


Rules of Conduct

by GlassPrism



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Disorder, Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, discussion of antisocial personality disorder, discussion of psychopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-18 20:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassPrism/pseuds/GlassPrism
Summary: "In order to provide a safe and enjoyable visit, Smith's Grove Sanitarium has provided detailed information on what to expect when visiting. Any violation of these rules may result in immediate termination of the visit." Eight years after the events of Halloween, Laurie Strode finds herself visiting Michael Myers. Based on Rob Zombie's version. Published on FanFiction.net on November 25, 2016; transferred to AO3 on November 4, 2018.





	1. The First Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU based on Rob Zombie's Halloween (2007) in which H2 (2009) never took place, though there will be elements taken from there. Characters have also been drawn from the original Halloween II (1981), the Halloween 4-6 timeline, and the H20 timeline. Please note the tagged warnings.

_The past_

_Her hands were wet._

_"_ _I killed him."_

_The rocks dug into her feet._

_"_ _I killed him."_

_Water sprinkled down on her head._

_"_ _I killed him."_

_Lights flashing._

_Stopping._

_Footsteps._

_"_ _Laurie? Laurie, sweetie, stop. Stop."_

_Hands on her shoulders._

_"_ _I killed him."_

 _"_ _Look at me, Laurie. Look at me."_

_Red haze._

_"_ _I killed him."_

_Fingers numb._

_"_ _Laurie, give me the gun, okay? Here you go."_

_The gun dropped._

_"_ _Who'd you kill, sweetie? Who'd you kill?"_

The boogeyman.

 _"_ _I killed him."_

* * *

_The present_

A thread was coming loose on her sweater.

Laurie fingered it nervously for a few seconds before zipping herself up, chilled by the constant blast of the sanitarium's air conditioning. A faint, antiseptic-like smell tickled her nose. She raked her fingers against her jeans, forcing back memories of blood and pain, the blurred out contours of her hospital room…

A clock on the far wall showed that it was ten minutes past one o'clock. She glanced at the door – her tenth time in the five minutes she had been sitting in the visitor's room, waiting for the patient.

Waiting for Michael Myers. Her brother.

Her fingers had stopped raking and were now digging into her leg. Visiting hours began at one, which was when she had scheduled this visit. Her gut twisted, chest growing tight, as the clock ticked inexorably away. What was taking so long? Had something happened? Was he coming for her -? No, there would be alarms going off, right? Unless he killed them – but there were cameras…

A delay. That's all. Delays were good. They could take as long as they liked – the more time they wasted, the less she had to spend with _him_ …

She watched a camera in the corner of the room spin its slow semicircular rotation about the room, feeling slightly reassured by its presence. If anything happened, here or elsewhere in the sanitarium, it would be caught on film. There were surely guards watching as well, making sure the patients and guests were behaving.

The camera hit its furthest point, then came grinding back around. It took in a medium-sized room, some feet larger than the cramped reception area that had been the first room of the sanitarium that Laurie had entered, but far smaller than the visiting areas she had seen on her way through. The security aide accompanying her had said that it was actually one of the rooms the doctors used when talking with their patients – particularly doctors working in the high security ward. As such, there was minimal furniture (true – Laurie was sitting on one of two chairs, at the only table in the room, all of which were bolted to the floor), no windows (also true), no utensils, tools, or any items other than what Laurie had carried in (very true – her purse, the only thing she had brought, had been searched thoroughly while she was run through a metal detector, then taken away from her), and a heavy, steel door kept locked except when entering and exiting.

Which Laurie was staring at right now.

1:15. She had unraveled an inch of thread on her sweater.

The camera had begun its fourth spin around the room when she heard the door creak. Laurie found herself on her feet, goosebumps crawling over her arms.

The door heaved open, and Laurie felt a prickle down her spine.

Four security guards, dressed in their blue uniforms, entered, guiding in a massive hulk of a man.

All of the oxygen seemed to have been vacuumed out of the room, the walls shrinking in around her as she fixated on him, that one point, that one person. The guards were speaking, but she could not hear them over the pounding of her pulse in her temples. The room was swimming in a haze, and she was trapped in that tiny, enclosed space with a serial killer, the murderer of her parents and friend – her _brother_ –

She bolted.

The aides were just swinging the door shut, but she flew past them – did not even register their shouts of dismay – brushed past the form of her brother, close enough to touch his robe, to smell the sharp, chemical scent on him –

And then she was flying through the tiled hallways of the hospital, grated windows a blur. She hurled herself into the nearest bathroom and vomited into a toilet.

* * *

"I'm not doing it."

Laurie's fingers were twisted into the spirals of the telephone cord. The handset was pressed hard against her ear.

"Mrs. Lloyd, there's really only two options available for your brother: long-term confinement at Smith's Grove-"

"And I hope he rots th-"

"-or release, for good behavior."

Laurie felt all her words dry up in her mouth.

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

She whispered, " _Good_ behavior?"

"Yes." Dr. Beckett sounded tired even through the static of the phone. "Deinstitutionalization is the way many hospitals are going. Has been for decades now. Besides the benefits on patients, our overdrawn budgets, we have too many patients coming in… prisons foisting their worst offenders on us… abuse of the insanity clause… we're overcrowded. Even some of our highest security patients are being considered for release."

"You can't," she choked out. Her tongue felt was too large in her mouth, strangling her words. "You _can't_."

"Obviously we don't want to," replied Dr. Beckett. "However, should he remain here at Smith's Grove for the remainder of his life, you may be asked to be his legal guardian."

"His _what?_ "

"A person in charge of medical, financial, and possibly personal decisions. When his – well, _your_ mother-" Laurie flinched minutely at the mention of the mother she had never known, the mother who had committed suicide rather than face up to the fact that she had raised a monster, "-when she committed suicide, he became a ward of the state. Even when you were discovered to be his sister-" another flinch, "-you were too young to be considered. But now…"

Laurie curled her hand ever tighter around the telephone cord. Now she was twenty-six, with a steady job, a stable home. She could be _considered_. "But – if he – if he is released… then he'd-"

"He would have to live with you, yes, for an initial period."

Her lungs compressed. She dropped the phone as if it were a poisonous spider. One hand slammed into the end table as she bent over it, gasping for air. There was a faint buzzing in her ears, pulsing out all other noises as her vision blacked in and out – Michael Myers, in his mask, a bloodied knife, in her house, with her children –

"Mrs. Lloyd? Mrs. Lloyd!"

Her face was resting only an inch above the glossy surface of the table, her gasping fogging the surface. Slowly, she stood, swiping off her glasses and rubbing hot tears off her cheeks. Her heart was still pounding against her ribcage, hard enough to send an ache.

"Mrs. Lloyd? Are you still there?"

A tremor ran through her body as she tried to pull herself upright. She had to steady herself against the wall for a second, still breathing rapidly.

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

Weakly, she reached over and picked up the phone, pressing it against her ear. "I'm here."

"Are you all right?"

No. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

 _No._ "Sure."

"…Okay. Just – just to let you know, whether you become Michael Myers's guardian or not, we will do everything we can to prevent him from leaving, legally or… otherwise."

Laurie could not help laughing, the sound hysterical even to herself. "Escaping."

"Yes. Which… which actually gets me to the topic at hand-"

" _No._ "

"It need not be long, or even all that often – only half an hour, once every few weeks-"

"I can't-" She was sucking in air again. "I can't – he killed – he killed my parents, my _friend-_ "

"Believe me, we are all of us aware of that. We would do everything to make sure you are safe. It would in the high security wing, guards inside and out, restraints-"

The room was pulling itself in on her once more. "No. _No._ " Even the mention of his name sent a buzzing through her skull. She closed her eyes, forcing it back.

"I understand what you've gone through, truly. But I believe your visits might be one of the only things that could prevent a recurrence of your ordeal."

She stopped. "Recurrence?" The word repeated itself in her ears, like a murmur.

"Yes. He broke out once before, and while we have upped security – particularly every time Halloween comes around – we can't really know what he's thinking. I've been his doctor for the last nine years, with access to Dr. Loomis's files for the other seventeen, and ninety percent of the time, I don't know what he is thinking, what he might be planning."

The image she had seen flashed through her mind again – Michael Myers coming at her, grabbing her, attacking her, but with a sick, twisted feeling of guilt overlaid.

"You can't be serious."

"You have a family, Mrs. Lloyd? And they're still living in Haddonfield?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Then his obsession with you might extend to them." A pause. "It is difficult, I understand. I will give you time to think… and we can reduce visits to once a month, once every three months, even-"

Laurie let him ramble on about security precautions and accommodations for her while the pulsing in her eardrums continued. Her eyes fell on the two books hidden in the highest shelf of her bookcase: _The Devil's Eyes_ and _The Devil Walks Among Us_. Along their spines, an etched image of Michael Myers glared out at her, one of him as a boy, the other as a man.

A shiver trembled its way up her neck as she averted her eyes. She let her glance travel instead down the shelves to the small portraits. The photo of a man with dark curly hair and a friendly smile, she avoided as well. But the photo of a girl and a boy, both around three years old and with the same dark hair, grinned happily out at her.

"- cameras will also be watching, and aides will be on highest alert-"

Laurie interrupted him. "I'll come."

Another pause. "You will?"

"Yes." She fixed her eyes on the photo, even as her mouth went dry with the finality of what she was saying. "Yes, I'll – I'll see him. Just once. I'll come."

* * *

"Mrs. Lloyd? Are you in there?"

Laurie jerked her head up from where it was bent over the toilet. An acid-sweet smell was invading her nostrils, bringing back the nausea. She gulped and spat out a last, bitter stream of bile.

"Mrs. Lloyd?" A tapping at the bathroom door. The voice was female, probably a nurse.

She stood, legs shaking with effort. "I'm here." Her voice was hoarse, vision blurry without her glasses. She flushed the toilet and stumbled out of the cubicle, falling against a nearby sink. It took a few tries for her shaking hands to turn on the faucet, and when it did, water came spraying out too hard, splashing her face and neck. "Shit!" She grasped clumsily at the handle, turning the water down to more manageable levels, and began washing out her mouth and nose.

"Mrs. Lloyd… Dr. Beckett says if you're feeling up to it, he's still waiting for y-"

Laurie choked on water. "No. No, God, please-"

"Mrs. Lloyd?" Apparently the nurse had not heard; it sounded like she had to shout just to be heard through the thick door.

Laurie said, in a louder voice, "No. No, this – I'm not ready." Wouldn't ever be ready. "I – please, I can – can I-"

"We can reschedule your visit, if you want."

"Yes." She grasped at that option, anything to prevent her from going back in. "Please, I just – I can't go back there, I can't-"

"That's fine, Mrs. Lloyd, perfectly understandable. I'll let the doctor know." The footsteps echoed away, leaving Laurie momentarily alone.

With a sigh, she pressed her head against the mirror, hoping its cold surface would quiet the buzzing in her head. She wished Jimmy were with her. He'd know how to handle this. He wouldn't have let her go to the sanitarium alone.

As always, her shaking hands steadied as she thought of her late husband, of his voice, his eyes. Jimmy had had the sweetest face, like he was always thinking friendly thoughts. It had been helpful for him as he worked as an ambulance driver and, later, a paramedic, reassuring panicking patients just with his presence. It had certainly reassured Laurie on multiple occasions.

A knock at the door startled Laurie from her thoughts. "Mrs. Lloyd? It's Dr. Beckett. The nurse said you would like to reschedule the visit?"

Laurie splashed her face one last time before grabbing a handful of paper towels. "Yes," she replied, glad that her voice was less rasping. "I-"

"We can have you come back next week, during normal hours."

 _No._ Laurie's hand went back to the sink, the porcelain cold under her palm. Her breathing was picking up again. No, not next week, next week was too much, too early –

"I don't-" She swallowed back a tremor. "Maybe – maybe later."

"Two weeks, then?"

 _Two months,_ she wanted to beg him. _Six months, a year, never._ She didn't want to _do_ this, she wanted to go home, she wanted her parents back, her friends back, she wanted Jimmy to put his arms around her and soothe away her fears like a bad nightmare.

"Or perhaps a month?"

She closed her eyes. "A month-" _Not enough, still not enough_ , she thought, but she had to do this, she had to protect her children even if everything in her body rebelled against it. She hated herself for quavering, tried to summon back up Jimmy's image. "A month is – is fine."

"Same time, same day?"

Laurie nodded, wanting to scream at herself for this. A month – a month was too soon, was only five weeks, thirty days, 240 hours…

"All right Mrs. Lloyd, we have you scheduled for February 1st at one o'clock, is that all right?"

She began to nod, then remembered she was still hiding inside the bathroom. "Yes, it's fine."

"We'll see you then. An aide will be waiting to escort you out."

As the footsteps disappeared, she began trembling once more. She remained in the bathroom a very long time.

* * *

She managed to calm herself during the long drive back to Haddonfield, though perhaps it had more to do with increasing her distance from the sanitarium. Snow still lined the roads, and she turned the heat up, warming her chilled body against the vent. The fields that surrounded the little town were blanketed in white powder, the homes distant, blurry boxes surrounded by fog. As she reached the small town, she slowed down, going through the smaller, winding streets. Many retained their Christmas decorations, reindeer and elves prancing around their lawns while Santa Clauses blinkered on the house rooftops.

She did not turn down Lampkin Lane.

After making what was essentially a giant circle, she finally turned into her neighborhood and parked by a neatly painted, two-story house, festooned with Christmas ribbons and a giant nativity scene in its yard. Before she had even turned off the engine h, the door opened, and out sprang two children, closely followed by a teenaged girl.

"Mommy!"

Jamie ran to the car, backpack bouncing frenetically with every step, practically a little ball with her coat, scarf, mittens, and hat all crammed onto her tiny body. Behind her followed John at a more sedate pace, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

She was so glad his hair was dark.

Jamie practically crashed into the car door, her jacket taking the brunt of the impact and prompting her babysitter to shout, "Slow down Jamie!"

Laurie suppressed a smile as her daughter flung her pack onto the seat. "Hey sweetie." To the teenager, she asked, "Everything go all right, Rachel?"

Rachel smiled, ruffling John's hair as he passed her. "Oh, terrible. Absolute monsters, both of them. I so deserve a bonus for tonight." Her breath puffed into the cold air.

In the back, Jamie stared at Rachel in horror. "What?! Mommy, we were good! Really, really good!" She tugged at John's arm. "Tell her, John!"

Laurie only laughed, pretending to ignore her daughter. "I'll be sure to punish them thoroughly. Early bedtime-"

Rachel joined in. "Only vegetables for dinner-"

"No TV-"

"No allowance-"

" _Mommy!_ " Jamie shrieked. John was watching his mother and babysitter curiously, detecting their light-hearted tone but not quite able to guess that it was a joke.

"We're kidding!" Rachel exclaimed, still giggling. When Jamie pouted at her, she added, "Yes, you guys were _great_. Best kids I've _ever_ babysat. Happy?"

Her reward was a winning smile. "See Mommy?"

" _Fine_ ," Laurie said with exaggerated defiance. "I _guess_ I believe you." To Rachel, she said, "Thanks so much for doing this on such short notice."

"Oh it was fine," Rachel replied, waving away Laurie's words. "Anytime you need me, I'll do it."

Laurie felt a familiar lurch of her stomach. "Yeah… well, I'll let you get back inside. Take care, Rachel."

"You too, Mrs. Lloyd. Stay warm! Take care, Jamie! John!"

The kids waved goodbye as Laurie shifted into drive and pulled back into the street. Rachel was a sweet girl, one of the children Laurie had babysat on a regular basis before… Well, she was a good kid, and one of the few who didn't seem to mind or care who Laurie was related to –

"Mommy, where'd you go today?"

Her daughter's voice broke into her increasingly morbid thoughts. Laurie shook herself briefly, turning down the corner. "Um… oh, just up to… just out of town for a bit. Nothing important."

"Oh. Okay." Jamie settled in her seat, apparently satisfied with that answer. Laurie checked the mirror, meeting John's eyes.

"Hey sweetheart," she said in a voice that just a bit too bright. "You haven't said much. How was your day?"

John shrugged. "Okay. We tried making snowmen, but the snow wouldn't pack, so we went inside and watched TV." He regarded the fogged window for a second. "Oh, and Jamie got knocked down by Sundae and started crying. Rachel had to take her to the potty to clean up."

"Did not!" Jamie protested.

"Did so."

"Did not! Mommy!"

"All right you two, cool it," Laurie said from the front. She pulled into the driveway of their house and let her two bouncy twins clamber out and up the steps to the door before locking the door behind her. Her eyes darted to the windows (unbroken), the furniture (exactly the same), and the lights (all on).

_It'll be different, Laurie. They won't be like him. Whatever it was that made him do it… you don't have it. They won't have it._

It had taken two years for Jimmy to convince her to have children. She had cried when she found out she was having twins, though not as much when she found out one of them was a boy. For six months, had woken up with nightmares of a blank-faced, blonde boy standing above her, bloody knife in hand.

She had been so happy when she saw her tiny, dark-haired son.

_Look, six to seven months is an estimate. An average. Not everyone starts talking then. He's been completely normal in everything else, he's bound to be a bit weird here, right?_

John had said his first word at nine months. For two months she had stood over him, mouth drawn tight, her mind flashing to the unspeaking killer who had kneeled in front of her and just stared.

 _John? John! You don't do that. You_ never _do that again, do you hear me? Look, look at that, you're scaring Jamie! I don't ever want to see you doing that again, is that understood?!_

Some stupid older kid had shown John that pouring salt on snails made them shrivel up, and John had come skipping towards her with glee, telling Laurie all about this new way to get rid of the pesky bugs in her garden and look, wasn't it funny how they seemed to fizzle –

_I'm sorry, Mrs. Lloyd, but there was an accident on the road…_

"Fuck!"

Laurie punched a hand into the sofa, then slammed her eyes and mouth shut in sudden guilt. There was no response from her children, though. Slowly she opened her eyes, saw that she was in the house, had been standing motionless in the living room, that her kids had littered the floor and stairs with discarded clothing and backpack and were squealing somewhere on the second floor.

She collapsed onto the sofa, hands fingering the thread in her sweater again, then hurried upstairs to the master bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out three bottles of medication, dry swallowing them in a rush.

_Take once per night to reduce nightmares. Take twice a day to reduce PTSD. Take as needed when you feel a panic attack coming upon you…_

A sudden knocking almost made her drop her bottle. She fumbled the caps back on and stuffed them onto the highest shelf of the medicine cabinet, where her children could not reach.

"Mommy?" John said, voice muffled by the door. "It's time for our bath."

She shut the cabinet. "I know, sweetie. I'm coming."

Night had fallen when she made her way to her children's bedroom. Twin beds were pushed up against the wall, separated by a small nightstand. Closer to the window was Jamie, long, still slightly damp hair curling on the pillow. Near the door was John, covers pulled up to his chin despite the heater. Laurie smiled gently as she pressed his covers in tighter and pushed back the hair from his sleepy eyes, then tugged up Jamie's blankets.

"'M warm already," Jamie complained.

"Appreciate it while you can, kiddo," Laurie replied, smoothing her hair out. "Can't keep the heater on all night."

John yawned, tucking his body into a ball and closing his eyes. "Is Daddy going to read us a bedtime story?"

Laurie felt her throat close up, her body freeze with fear. He'd forgotten again, this was twice… no, was it three times now?

Before she could reply, Jamie said, "Daddy's gone, silly, remember? Mommy's told us already."

"Oh yeah."

John snuggled deeper into his pillow, breathing deepening, mumbling a muffled, "Night, Mommy." Jamie echoed him. Unable to speak, Laurie simply kissed them both, got up, and flicked off the light, then closed the bedroom door. Outside, she leaned against it, squeezing her eyes shut.

_He appears to have no comprehension of what he has done, no memory of Halloween night. He insists that his family members are still safe at home and that he would never have hurt them._

Stop it, she told herself. It's different. Five years old, their father already dead for one year, of course their memories would be fading. She took deep breaths, trying to stop the pounding of her heart.

An hour later, she got into bed, unable to keep herself from thinking:

_Twenty-nine days left._


	2. The Second Visit

"Please hand over your purse and any other personal belongings."

…

"Thank you. Step through the metal detector please."

…

"Everything seems to be in order. Here's your visitor pass. Keep it clipped somewhere in sight. Danny here will take you to the visiting room."

…

"Just a minute, Mrs. Lloyd. The buttons on this one always stick. …There we go. Ladies first."

…

"Yeah, it jams when it opens. Sorry about that. Place is a little old, you know."

…

"Just ignore them, Mrs. Lloyd. Most of 'em are coming back from lunch, it gets some of them a little hyper."

…

"Gonna need you to put your purse in here, like last time. …Okay, let's go on in."

…

"Man, I just wanted to say… it's really amazing to me to see you here. I mean, I read Dr. Loomis's book, and geez, the things that happened, even here…"

…

"Yeah, I knew Loomis. He was a pretty decent guy, pretty good doctor, before he got hold of Myers. Kind of got obsessed with him. Scary guy. One minute he'd just be sitting there, you know, like a bump on a log, then suddenly he's murdering your friend…"

…

"Yeah – well, not a friend. Acquaintance. He was a lot older than me; I'd only been here a few months when he died, and I wasn't here when it happened. But he got started as an aide, got promoted to security guard. He knew Myers since the day the kid got brought in. Actually seemed fond of him. Called him 'Mikey'. Can you believe that? But we all called him Mikey back then… still, Ismael was closest thing Mikey had to a friend. Then he broke out and we find Ismael's head crushed by a television. Guy was just a couple of months from retiring, too. Nobody went around calling him Mikey after that. Oh, here we are…"

…

"Whoa, watch it there. Doors get a bit heavy in this wing. Should be right up here. Lemme check them… the doctors are using a few of them today. …Yeah, think it's this one."

He heaved the door open and let Laurie step inside.

She saw him. He was sitting at the table, dwarfing the chair he was in. He was wearing sanitarium-issued robes and an orange, handmade mask, exposing his mouth and eyes and long hair – but all Laurie could see was him standing over her in his mechanic's uniform, peering through the eyes of his mask and holding a bloodied butcher knife, bringing it down on her –

Her head was ringing. The room spun around her. She clutched at the door and hurtled back out, waves of nausea roiling in her gut, and slammed into the furthest wall, gagging. She was dimly aware of a thud, of hands around her shoulders, a voice echoing into her fogged brain –

"Mrs. Lloyd-"

"Get her some air-"

"Call a doctor-"

"Just give her some space, for chrissakes!"

Time passed; how much, Laurie wasn't sure. What she did know was that the humming in her ears and the erratic beating of her heart continued, long after the nausea had passed. It took slow stages for her to become aware of herself, grasping at little irritants – the prickle of the wall against her cheek, the cold floor under her leg, her fingers curled tightly into her shirt, a voice repeating her name like a broken record.

"Mrs. Lloyd? Mrs. Lloyd? Are you all right?"

Lynda's naked body hovered under her eyelids, a red bruise ringing her neck. Annie's slashed body lay on the floor, blood trickling from her nose and mouth.

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

They hadn't shown her parents' bodies. Later, in a drug-induced daze, she had heard a careless technician say that her father's face had been slashed, her mother's neck broken after a long struggle.

"Stay back. Mrs. Lloyd. Can you hear me? Focus on my voice."

 _Perhaps the only survivor of the Halloween massacre was 17-year-old Laurie Strode – an extraordinarily lucky thing. For young Laurie was none other than the only survivor of Michael Myers's_ first _series of murders: his sister, Angel Myers, adopted after Deborah Myers's suicide by the murdered Strodes…_

"Focus. Center in on me. That's it. Hold onto that sound. Follow it up, Mrs. Lloyd. Take your time…"

Her breathing steadied. She was aware of a tight ache in her hand where it was fisted into her shirt. With painful effort, she released it, loosening each individual finger.

"It's all right. Everything's fine. Keep breathing like that, Mrs. Lloyd. Calm, steady…"

_I'm Michael Myers's sister._

Laurie opened her eyes.

She was curled up against the wall, in a hallway of the sanitarium. Above her was a barred window, dull winter light reflecting off the white walls. Dr. Beckett stood over her, thick brows furrowed with concern. Further down was a security guard and a nurse, watching her with concern.

Dr. Beckett extended a hand. "Are you all right, Mrs. Lloyd?"

Laurie searched his face for the inevitable pity that always accompanied her attacks, but could see none in his eyes. He simply waited with calm tranquility, seeming to not care if she took his hand or not. After a second's hesitation, she did, stumbling to her feet.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said before she could speak. "After last time, we thought it might be best to have him in the room before you, rather than making you wait."

She shook her head, not feeling well enough to speak. Annoyance, mingled with the urge to be understanding, pricked at her – that they had noticed her reaction, that they had wanted to help, that none of them had thought to _warn_ her before walking into the room, to prepare for him –

"If – if you would like to reschedule again-"

Humiliation replaced the annoyance – she could not keep doing this, could not keep backing out – and that prickle of shame and anger helped Laurie to find her voice. "No. No, I can – just give me – give me a second."

"Of course." Dr. Beckett nodded almost too eagerly, taking a step back. He was rather short, she noticed inanely; maybe just a few inches taller than her. This was her first time actually seeing him; she had only spoken to him on the phone before. She couldn't help comparing him to Dr. Loomis, the other psychiatrist in charge of Michael Myers. Dr. Loomis had looked like a hero when they first met, the shock of white hair and the intelligent, craggy face. That had changed later on… but the first impression lingers. Dr. Beckett, however, looked quite normal, even nondescript: maybe in his forties, with dull brown hair turning a dark gray and the kind of face that would be quickly lost in a crowd, forgotten in just a few moments. As she watched, he coughed quietly and took off his glasses, wiping them on his coat. "Whenever you're ready-"

"I'm ready." Laurie took a shaky step towards the door. Heat pooled in her, making her skin tingle. "I want to go in now." Do it, she told herself, prickling with sharp anticipation. Get it over with. Go in and let him attack her and have them all decide that _no, no Mrs. Lloyd, this was clearly a big mistake, you don't ever have to come back again…_

Dr. Beckett did not try to stop her. He nodded at a nearby nurse, who unlocked the door and swung it open.

Laurie hesitated just one more moment, averting her eyes from the man inside. "Will there be-?" Her hand waved feebly at the entrance.

"Any – oh." Dr. Beckett shook his head. "Aides will be waiting outside, and we'll have cameras on at all times, but there won't be anyone inside… privacy reasons."

She swallowed. Hadn't he said there would be guards? She could not remember, and could not summon up the energy to demand it. "Okay."

Another step, and another, and then the door was swinging shut behind her, closing with a dull thud. In the sudden quiet, she heard it locked outside.

And now she was with her brother.

It was her first time getting a close look at him, she thought dully. He had been a panicked blur her first visit, a black form hiding in the shadows in her memories and nightmares, a bloody, brutal figure the night of his escape. He had been more of a shape than an actual person, an implacable threat chasing her down.

Except… except for that one time, in the cellar of the Myers house, when he had pulled off the mask and sat, docile and quiet, before her. She had to close her eyes a moment to get rid of the memory.

She could not decide what he was now. He was still wearing the orange mask she had seen last time, a hole carved out for the mouth and two smaller ones for eyes. It looked to be made of newspaper strips plastered over a mold and colored in with orange marker. They gave him markers? Like a child? A half-hysterical laugh threatened to bubble out of her. She tamped down on it furiously, certain that if she gave into it, she would go as crazy as the rest of the sanitarium's inhabitants.

His dirty brown hair was still long, hanging down to his shoulders. It looked like he was dressed in hospital scrubs, a white shirt and tattered gray robe. Sitting at the table (bolted down and tiny), facing her, she could not see the rest of him.

Laurie realized she was still pressed up against the door. Her legs had gone numb, holding her fast. The distance to the chair, to the man sitting there, felt suddenly insurmountable, then all too close.

 _Move. Go sit down._ Her nerves were jangling, hands shaking once more. _It's pointless if you huddle here._ Move.

It was only a step.

One step. Then another. And another.

She gripped the chair with shivering fingers and collapsed on it. Like the rest of the furniture, it too was attached to the floor, which was probably the only reason why it didn't topple as she sat down.

Now only the length of the table separated her from Michael Myers.

* * *

_As mysterious as the motivations for Michael's massacre are, they pale in comparison to his motivations for who survived them. Psychopaths, by definition, are incapable of empathy, compassion, or pity; unable to understand that there are creatures besides themselves capable of reason and emotion. They are motivated purely by their own pleasure: that is, what they can gain from a situation._

_We can then, perhaps, deduce a few reasons for why he murdered those he did. The schoolyard bully is obvious – having caused emotional and physical distress, his death was well-deserved (would be Michael Myers's reasoning). His mother's abusive boyfriend would have similar motivations behind his death. Judith Myers's brutal stabbing is murkier, but as explained in the previous chapter, their relationship had deteriorated considerably from their former closeness. Another likelihood n was that Michael was jealous of the attention she received from their mother, and thought that ridding himself of her would benefit him in that way. Judith's boyfriend is perhaps the most random, as interactions between him and Michael appear to have been infrequent at best. Perhaps the only explanation is that he was unlucky enough to have been in the house at the time._

_And so it is that the only two survivors of the Halloween massacre were Deborah Myers and Angel Myers, the latter the younger sister of Michael. Recorded footage of visiting hours at Smith's Grove shows a fairly close relationship between Michael and his mother, but we must remember that psychopaths are capable of great charm and deception, especially if after something they wanted. In Michael's case, he continually asked to go home, and his seeming innocence and fondness for his mother was probably intended to gain his mother's sympathy. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Why did Deborah Myers survive? Perhaps affection on Michael's part, but it is more likely that Deborah Myers was only ever valued as someone who could provide something for Michael – food, shelter, the occasional attention. Her survival hinges more on the fact that she just happened to be out of the house on Halloween night than on any bond with her son._

_And Angel Myers? Little Angel was conceived shortly before the death of Deborah's husband. At the time, she was only a few months old, sleeping obliviously in her crib as Michael slaughtered their family members. The reason, then, is clear: a complete non-entity to her brother, she survived simply because she was not a threat._

* * *

She breathed in deeply, forcing her body back into steadiness, but Michael drew her attention like a magnet, compelling her to look at him. But if she did, she would break down completely – she wasn't _ready_ yet to face him. Eyes flicking around the room, the furniture, she saw a small crack in the plastic of the table. It caught her gaze, the sharp black line of it, and she found herself picking at it, letting the roughness anchor her.

Now just one quick glance up. That was all.

Laurie did. Held it. Stared straight at her brother.

He wasn't looking at her – she thought. His shoulders and arms were straight, almost held back, but his face – what she could see of it – was inclined slightly to her left, as if he was looking at something particularly interesting over her shoulder. Laurie resisted the urge to glance behind – more than anything, she did not want to turn her back on this man. She was glad she was the one sitting closest to the door.

After another second, she dropped her gaze. The silence was oppressing, the only sound that of the heater running in the room. She knew that trees and a large lawn surrounded the sanitarium, that there were probably birds chirping in them or wind rustling through the branches, but none of those sounds penetrated the white walls of the sanitarium.

Still rubbing her finger along the crack, Laurie dared a second glance, this time leaning slightly to her right to see under the table. She was relieved to see the restraints promised by the doctor – cuffs on Michael Myers's wrists, forcing his arms behind his back, which looked to be chained to a wide leather strap around his waist. He probably could not get up from his chair. Another chain ran down his legs, manacling his ankles. These were further locked to the table legs, so that he could not get up or move at all.

When Laurie looked up, Michael was staring at her.

A strangled gasp escaped her, and she instinctively pushed back against the table. Her body slammed into the chair back, making it shudder against its bolts.

Shit. _Shit._

She scrambled up, hands scrabbling along the back of the chair. Her breaths were coming quick and fast, and –

Michael sat there.

Little tremors rocked her torso. Even across the table, she could see his eyes, how black they looked, how… flat, almost.

She hadn't ever seen his eyes, had she? They were always half hidden behind the mask. Except for that one time… but then he had stared at the floor the entire time.

Breathe. _Breathe._ He wasn't doing anything. Not yet.

Laurie slowly sat back down, running her hands nervously over her jeans. Michael was still staring at her. The intensity of it was unnerving – she couldn't meet it again, and she found herself staring at everything but him, flicking to the walls, to the camera, to the clock that showed she had fifteen minutes left… was it fifteen? Hadn't she asked for only half an hour of visiting time? She couldn't remember.

When she looked up again, Michael was _still_ gazing at her. She thought that, maybe, there was a bit of tension in his body. Perhaps holding himself ready to attack when she let her guard down. Bile began creeping up her throat, and she clenched her hands against the table legs. There were guards just outside. People watching on the security feeds. And if he did it, she wouldn't ever have to come back again.

She almost wanted him to. Waited for him to spring up, rip off his shackles, and grab her.

Minutes passed.

Laurie breathed, waiting for the sound of heavy footsteps, of the chains breaking.

Nothing happened.

They waited, both of them.

It had almost been 15 minutes, and Laurie felt as if there was an electric wire running through her. The anticipation was exhausting, and _still_ Michael just sat there, _looking_ at her.

Like _he_ was waiting for something too.

But what?

Laurie stood up with a bang. A throbbing pain shot through her right leg – she had cracked her ankle against the chair leg in her haste – and the shock of it seemed to loosen her tongue.

"I-" Her voice floundered as Michael's gaze shot up, following her. "Michael-" Fuck, why was she _talking_ to him? Fuck, _fuck_ – "I-"

Her voice was squeaky and too loud after the silence. Her tongue rasped over dry lips.

"Michael-" She was backing away, fumbling for the door, and there were words on the edge of her lips wanting to be spilled out, but nothing coherent in her head - "I – _shit!_ "

 _Need to go, need to get out_ –

She almost cracked a bone slamming her palm against the door. A scream was building in her throat as she heard the lock being turned – it was so goddamn _slow_ , what the hell was taking them so long?!

When it opened, she practically fled the room, not looking back.

Michael's doctor was waiting outside, looking as nervous as she had felt. As she flew past him, she heard him say, "Mrs. Lloyd – wait! Are you-?"

She spun around. "I just – I-" She couldn't find her words, couldn't decipher what she was thinking or feeling except that she needed to _leave_ \- "I need to go – I have to-"

"Yes, of course, but I was wondering if you wanted to schedule the next visit-"

No! No, she wanted to go, she hadn't wanted to come in the first place, why couldn't he just leave her the hell alone?!

"We can schedule that for you right now…"

She shook her head frantically and flinched as the door to the visiting room slammed closed. They were alone, the guards inside probably readying Michael to go back to his cell –

Or maybe being attacked right now so he could come after her. Her knees buckled and she felt herself sliding against the wall.

"Mrs. Lloyd!"

The doctor grabbed her arm, hoisting her back up.

"Mrs. Lloyd, it's all right. You're safe out here…"

A laugh was bubbling up. Safe? She could never be safe, not when he was still alive, when he still knew _she_ was alive…

"No, that's not true," the doctor said, and Laurie realized she must have said all that out loud. "It helps, Mrs. Lloyd, I truly believe that your visits are _helping_ …"

 _But I don't_ want _to help him…_

"Then it is helping you. Helping your family. Mrs. Lloyd, believe me, if he realizes that your visits will become a regular occurrence, it might compel him to stay here."

A desperate little shriek escaped her. "A regular occurrence?" As if she would ever come back here. " _Why?_ I don't _want_ to be here! He doesn't care, he doesn't give a _fuck_ about me, he went after my _fucking friends_ , my _parents_ -"

 _…_ _a complete non-entity… not a threat_ …

"That is not true, Mrs. Lloyd – well, that is true, part of it… but I do believe… you've read Dr. Loomis's book, surely? I'm sorry, of course you did – but Dr. Loomis had his own preconceptions, and I feel he was wrong in that regard. I do think Michael Myers feels something for you."

And that was more terrifying than anything that had happened.

"I don't _want_ him to!" Laurie screamed. She wrenched her arm back. "I don't want him here, I don't want _him_ , I want him to stay _here_ and never come out – I _hate him!_ I hate him and I hate his fucking obsession with me and I just want him to fucking _forget about me_ -"

"But he won't," said the doctor, implacable for once. It shook her out of her hysteria. "And you must decide for yourself how to use that." He sighed, taking off his glasses and wiping them once more. "We've been keeping him here for over eight years, and our security is at its tightest, but if he should take it in his head to escape once more… we might not be able to stop him." He replaced his glasses to peer at her. "And there would only be one reason for him to escape."

_Me._

_My children._

"I won't force you," said Dr. Beckett, "but please… think about it."

* * *

"Where'd you go today, Mommy?"

Laurie looked up from where she was washing dishes. Jamie and John's homework was spread out over the dining table. John was absorbed with spelling, but Jamie was anything but focused.

She smiled wanly. "Just… same place as last month, Jamie."

"Oh." Jamie scratched at her math homework. "Where'd you go last month?"

"Out of Haddonfield."

"Why?"

"I had to see someone."

"Who?" That was John, leaning forward in his chair until it tilted off his back legs.

"Just… someone who needed to… see… me."

Jamie frowned, the picture of adorable concentration. " _Who_ needed to see you?"

"Hey! Focus on your homework!" was Laurie's response. She wiped soap off her hands. "That stuff is due tomorrow, and I don't want to hear Mrs. Chambers complaining about you guys in the teacher's lounge."

They groaned, but as hoped, turned back to their work. "But I don't _like_ learning about numbers," John complained.

"And we have to copy down all these letters!"

"And reading!"

"And science!"

"Well, I'll be sure to bring that up to your teacher tomorrow when I see her," Laurie replied. "But now… _do_ … your… homework!" She tapped on their papers to emphasize the point. "And stop sitting in your chair like that!"

With exaggerated grumbling, they did, John thumping the legs of his chair down. Laurie glared down at them, only half-mockingly, and only when it subsided did Laurie put down her washcloth and go upstairs.

Her head was killing her. The long drive, her children's whining, and the stress of the visit had combined to give her a terrible migraine. She gulped down some pain relief in her bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. The pain eased slightly as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She fingered the long scar that still cut across her forehead and down her cheek, then pushed aside her straggly blonde hair.

_You know, whoever sewed that up did a terrible job. I'd have done it so that you'd barely notice it._

_Right Jimmy, you the ambulance driver._

_The ambulance driver slash_ paramedic _, thank you very much._

_Hmm. So you think something's wrong with my face?_

_Nah._

_Think it makes me look badass, then? Makes me look tough?_

_If you want._

_Jesus, Jimmy…_

_Hey, look. We use the same bathroom, you know. I see you look at it, and you always look sad. Why'd I want that? I know it doesn't work that way, but if getting rid of it could make everything better, I'd do it. That's why._

Laurie banished Jimmy's voice from her head and leaned against the mirror. She had a ton of grading waiting for her downstairs, a meeting coming up next week, and she had to go over what the substitute had done with her class today… did she even have a lesson planned –

A thud made her leap up, alert for noises. A shrill scream – and she was hurtling downstairs, heart in her throat. The yelling continued and she almost slid on the floor, turning to go into the kitchen and screaming her children's names – shit, why hadn't she listened to the news today, maybe they would have said – or did she miss a phone call, Dr. Beckett saying that he had – he had –

Almost sliding on the wood floor, she came into the kitchen, gasping, "Jamie! John! Are you-"

John groaned from the floor. "I fell over."

Laurie came to a halt. "What?"

"He didn't do like you said Mommy, and he fell off his chair," Jamie immediately ratted him out.

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Stop it, both of you!" Laurie held up her hands. Her head was pounding again. With the fear gone, all she could feel now was irritation. "John, do not ever do that again, do you hear?"

"But Mommy-"

" _Did you hear me?_ "

Stunned into silence, he only nodded. Jamie mimicked his motion beside him, equally quiet.

 _Oh God, what am I am doing?_ Laurie cradled her head in her hands. _Deep breaths. Center yourself._ Nothing had happened. Nothing had happened. But it _could_ happen. What if visiting Michael would just set him off? Make him remember he had a little sister out there? Spur him into coming after her? He could be breaking out and making his way to Haddonfield right now –

Her breath was picking up, and Laurie had just enough presence of mind to get out of there – she could not let her children see her having a panic attack. She ran back up to the bathroom and locked herself in, gasping as her lungs compressed on themselves.

 _Breathe, you have to breathe._ She grabbed at the sink, bending over it and fighting to get air down her throat. _Don't think about, don't think about it_ –

_"_ _Miss, you all right? …Hey now, it's okay. I work in a hospital; I know how to help. Head between your legs now, and focus on your breathing… Yeah, just like that… you're safe here, you know… Breathe… see, getting better? Yeah. Still need to go to the hospital? I can take you there, free of charge. Serious!"_

_"_ _Do you remember me? Sorry, guess you wouldn't want. But I'm Jimmy. Jimmy Lloyd."_

Laurie opened her eyes, chest pumping for air. The bathroom light shone down on her, making her eyes water. With a sigh, she placed a hand over her face.

She missed Jimmy so much. His steadying presence, the way he had anchored her, his wry sense of humor. He hadn't even blinked when she told him who she was. _S'okay, Laurie, we all got some bad seeds. My uncle, he got jailed six times for public urination. Really!_

Slowly, she stood, legs shaking as they always did after an attack. God, she had forgotten to take her medication for it.

But then, she didn't think there was any pill that could stop the attacks she got when she had to face the man responsible for them in the first place.

Her children were speaking in whispers as she came down. Laurie wiped her face, hoping she wasn't too much of a mess – she hadn't gotten a good look at herself in the mirror before leaving. Both looked up as she entered.

"Hey," she said with a weak smile. She sat next to John, stroking his head. He didn't wince, which meant no bruises – the fall could not have been too bad. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Mommy's just a little tired and worried." John nodded solemnly. Jamie imitated him once again. "You okay?"

"Yes, Mommy." John gnawed his lip. "'M sorry I didn't pay attention to you."

"It's okay, honey. I'm just glad you're not hurt." She stroked his cheek a moment, then reached over to Jamie. "You too, Jamie." She ran her fingers through her thick, dark hair, and continued even as the twins went back to their homework, jabbering to each other with their usual animation.

_You have a family, Mrs. Lloyd. His obsession with you might extend to them._

She shook them away and grabbed one of her papers, trying to focus on grading and her children's questions, but Dr. Beckett's plea was too forceful.

_There would only be one reason for him to escape._

Fuck him, she thought to herself, abandoning the pile of papers. He wasn't going to lay a hand on them. Not if she could help it. Even if it meant seeing him every month, for the rest of his life, she'd do it. If it kept him in there, and far away from her children, she'd do it. Murmuring something, she went into the hallway and picked up the phone.

"Is Dr. Beckett there? Yes, I'll hold… Dr. Beckett? This is Laurie Lloyd. I know, it's late, I'm sorry, but… I just wanted to… schedule my next visit. Yes. Yes, I know. I'm sure. …Next month, please. The 1st. Same time."

_Twenty-nine days left._


	3. The Third Visit

_The past_

_There was pain. It was all she could feel. Pain in her face, in her hands, in her leg._

_"_ _Shh. Lie back, Miss Strode. There you go. Try not to move too much, all right honey? You've just come out of some pretty extensive surgery, and we don't want to ruin all the work the doctors did, right? Yeah, like that. We've got you on heavy painkillers, so you're going to feel a little funny sometimes, okay?"_

 _"…_ _Lynda?"_

 _"_ _Sheriff Brackett's here, dear. He can talk to you."_

 _"_ _Laurie, honey? Can you hear me?"_

 _"…_ _Lynda."_

 _"_ _Laurie… I'm so, so sorry, but… we found Lynda. She's… she didn't make it."_

 _"…_ Lynda _?"_

 _"_ _Shh, don't move, Laurie, don't move. It's okay, it's okay."_

_Gasp. "…Annie?"_

_"…_ _Annie's still in surgery. She's… she's hanging on. Doctors think she might make it. She's tough. She'll, um… she'll pull through."_

_Breath. Breath._

_"_ _W-where…"_

 _"_ _Don't overdo it, we can talk about this later."_

 _"_ _W-where… where… Mom and Dad? W-when will they… come?"_

_A silence._

_"_ _Laurie…"_

_He was looking down._

No…

 _"_ _Laurie, we went to your house…"_

No…

 _"_ _He'd already been there…"_

No.

 _"_ _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry to tell you this… but they… they're both gone. I'm so sorry, Laurie."_

 _"_ _No… no… no…"_

 _"_ _Shh… Laurie… Laurie, no, sweetheart, stop, stop… someone get me a nurse. Get me a nurse! Laurie, Laurie, you have to stop, stop – where's the nurse?! We need help, get her a sedative, get her something-!"_

 _"_ _No."_

 _"_ _No…"_

No…

* * *

_The present_

"Please," Laurie pleaded, "just let me take it in with me." She clutched the small bottle in her hand, knuckles going white. "I – it's just in case something happens."

The nurse exchanged a glance with the reception clerk, and nodded. "Yeah, she's allowed," said the nurse. "Dr. Beckett said she could."

Laurie let out a sigh of relief as they let her through. She pocketed the small bottle but kept fingering the label as they led her down the endless hallways, the layers of doors. It would probably come off entirely if she kept doing that. Didn't matter, though; its instructions were burned into her mind _(take as needed when symptoms arise)_.

She was prepared this time, though her stomach was fluttering with nervous dread. She knew what was waiting for her on the other side of the door. The guard paused before letting her in, asking if she wanted some time to ready herself. She nodded, thinking that this was probably Dr. Beckett's idea as well, and feeling a tiny kernel of gratefulness to him for it. One breath. Two. Letting a moment pass.

"Ready, Mrs. Lloyd?"

At her reluctant nod, the guard unlocked the door and swung it open, and Laurie stepped inside once more.

* * *

"Mrs. Lloyd? Is there – did you have a question?"

Laurie's fingers threatened to rip out the telephone with how hard she was gripping the cord. "I – I want to reschedule. Another time. I'm not ready to come again, I need more time-"

"Oh. We'll see what we can do, Mrs. Lloyd, but if I could ask why-?"

Her voice shook. "You don't know everything that happened. He tried to _kill_ me. Whatever he feels, it's not there-"

"Mrs. Lloyd-"

"I'm not helping; I'd only make him want to break out even _more-_ "

"Mrs. Lloyd-"

"Please, just – I don't need to come anymore, I don't-"

"Mrs. Lloyd, do you have a therapist?"

The apparent randomness of the question threw her off. "What?"

"Do you see a psychologist or psychiatrist?"

"I – no. I did, for a couple of years, but eventually I… stopped." She had been put on medication and had, in her therapist's words, "stabilized". And she had not regretted stopping. Why bleed all her crazy shit over someone else?

Whatever the doctor's intentions in asking her, he did not intend to let on, because he switched to an entirely different subject. "Can you tell me what happened Halloween night, when Michael Myers came back?"

She rubbed her eyes, not sure what his point was, but knowing that she did not want to revisit that night. "It's in the book. We don't have to talk about it."

"Actually, this is what Dr. Loomis wrote. 'Having killed Lynda van der Klok and mutilated Annie Brackett, not to mention terrorizing two children and murdering two police officers, Michael made off with his sister, trapping her in his family's old pool. If he was planning on a family reunion – or a repeat of his first family massacre – he was to be disappointed. I came upon the pair and attempted to rescue young Laurie, shooting Michael repeatedly, then sacrificing myself to keep him from reaching her. Perhaps it was not in vain, for when I came to in my hospital bed, I was informed that Laurie Strode was alive and hospitalized and Michael captured. I could breathe easily.' From _The Devil Walks Among Us_."

_That's… not what happened._

Laurie was silent, long enough that Dr. Beckett asked, "Mrs. Lloyd? Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"Is that really what happened?"

She cradled the phone close to her ear. "Why… why wouldn't it be?" _And what's your point to all this?_

"A number of things. For one, Dr. Loomis was unconscious for part of the story. For another, police officers reported evidence of a struggle in numerous places in the Myers house. And there are time gaps between when Myers kidnapped you, when Dr. Loomis managed to get to the house, when the police got to the Myers house…"

_The cellar, we were in the cellar with the gravestone and Lynda and he gave me a photo and just sat there until I stabbed him and he came, he followed and followed –_

"That's what happened."

"Mrs. Lloyd-"

" _It's what happened._ He killed my friend, my parents, and he was going to kill me-"

"Mrs. Lloyd, did you know that the police recovered an old photo in the basement of the Myers house?"

She stopped, words drying up. "W-What?"

"An old photo, of Michael Myers as a young boy, holding a baby."

She knew what he was referring to. Even if she had not seen it, had it pushed in front of her face, held it, it had been in Dr. Loomis's book, with that damning caption: _Michael Myers with his younger sister, Angel_ , followed by: _Angel Myers at age 17, several months before Michael Myers's escape (adoptive name: Laurie Strode)_.

"We gave a copy of that photo back to him. I admit, I was hoping for a reaction when I allowed it, and, well… He still has it in his room."

Laurie didn't think she could speak, even if she wanted to.

"I think it still means something to him, that photo, and you."

_No. No, that doesn't mean anything._

"Knowing that, I would hazard to guess that, whatever he wants, it might not be to attack you. Perhaps you might change your mind…?"

She dropped the phone before he could finish and huddled against the carpet, hiding her face in her hands. The kids were at a friend's house, so they would not stumble upon their mother having a breakdown.

Change her mind? She would never change her mind about him. Not when she continued to have nightmares of Michael, staring down at her through his mask. Not when she could not drive down Lampkin Lane without having a panic attack. Not when she could not go to the Doyle or Wallace house, or see her old home, without feeling like vomiting. Not when she was afraid to see some reflection of her brother in John's face, in John's hands, in John's movements.

_Where is Laurie Strode now? As far as I know, recovering in Haddonfield, under the care of Sheriff Brackett. She has not survived unscathed – she had to spend several days in the hospital recovering from her wounds, and no doubt the psychological trauma will run deeper. Whether she is aware of her relation to her town's most infamous resident, nobody knows. Yet her brother is safely confined in Smith's Grove Sanitarium, where he will stay for the rest of his natural life, far away from his baby sister. That can only be a good thing._

His baby sister, the non-entity, the non-threatening one of his family.

But that wasn't right, was it?

He had given her the photo, expecting her to remember. He had taken off his mask. He had even gotten on his knees and sat quietly. As if waiting for something.

But she had stabbed him, and perhaps he saw it as betrayal. She was not his baby sister anymore. Not a non-entity. A threat.

Then why did he still have the photo in his room?

Laurie stared at the phone a long time, but made no move to pick it up. Evening had fallen over the room before she got up and stumbled to her car to pick up her children. The photo weighed in her mind; Michael holding the baby; Michael coming down the pool after her; Michael grabbing the pistol as she aimed it at his head; Michael sitting, waiting for her to give him something she did not have.

She did not reschedule.

* * *

He was looking straight at her as she came in. It stopped Laurie in her tracks, pinning her against the closed door. Her hand automatically went to the bottle, gripping its ridged cap. The feel of the grooves provided a tiny measure of reassurance, steadied her just enough that she did not bolt.

Slowly, his head tilted, like a curious animal regarding her. A shiver went down her spine at the horrible familiarity of the movement. Deciding if she was prey or predator. Threat or… something else? Her legs trembled with the urge to run back outside, but with his eyes on her, her mind had gone blank, unable to send commands to the rest of her body, to do anything other than look right back at him.

He stayed in that position for one long, paralyzing moment, then straightened. When Laurie made no move, his eyes went past her, drifting towards a spot on the wall behind her.

Only then did she find the courage to walk towards the table and sit down.

The room did not look the same – smaller, less bright. Classical music was being piped into it, though it sounded rather tinny and distant. But there was still only one table, with chairs at each end. They were still bolted to the floor. She could see, if she leaned over towards the edge of the table, the same restraints on him.

His mask was different though. It looked rougher, maybe uncompleted – newspaper strips not painted with any colors, distinguished by their photos, half covered up with other strips, some of them poking out haphazardly. She felt stupid for wondering if there was any significance to that – like maybe he would dress up for the occasion.

She pulled her hand out from her pocket and sat on the chair, breathing deeply. Michael remained staring at the far wall. A glance at the clock showed that less than five minutes had passed.

"Mi-"

Michael's head shot up at her word, staring straight at her. The movement cut off anything else Laurie might have said, words strangling in her throat. She pressed back against her chair, mouth going dry. Her fingers found the bottle again.

Somehow, under the gaze that now felt utterly oppressing, she summoned up her words. "Michael…" She licked equally dry lips, not believing herself… but she needed to – to – to figure out what he wanted from her, if he was biding his time, waiting for her to let down her guard, or –

Her brother's head tilted once more, and then she doubled up and dry heaved as –

 _–_ _the masked man bearing down the hall towards her, watching her scream –_

 _–_ _staring at her, sobbing on the ground, begging for her life, for Lynda's life –_

 _– "…_ _he was nuts, he was – was – insane – he just kept staring at Paul – at Paul's_ body _– like it was – a fucking toy! A toy or something and he was just – just playing with it, playing with me, Laurie, oh God-"_

 _–_ _coming at her, bearing down at her, body smashing into her and over the balcony –_

"Stop it!"

She was out of the chair, its edge hitting the back of her knees. Michael's head jerked up, following her.

"Stop – stop looking at me like that!"

 _"_ _I'm so sorry, Laurie, but your parents… he came to their house sometime after you left…"_

 _"…_ _looks like he strangled her to death…"_

 _"…_ _numerous stab wounds to her body-"_

"You – you-" Michael's gaze was penetrating her, and she felt her tongue unravel, everything coming out. "You _motherfucker_!"

 _"…_ _stabbed seventeen times, and was found in the upstairs hallway-"_

 _"_ _\- beaten to death with a baseball bat-"_

 _"…_ _found with his throat slit wide open…"_

 _"_ _-committed suicide, shooting herself in front of her television screen…"_

Her hands were gripping the edge of the table. "Stop sitting there, stop being so – so fucking _silent_ and say something, goddamn it!"

Michael tilted his head back an inch, and before she knew it, she was screaming.

"You killed them, you killed my parents – my _parents_ , you fucker! They never did _anything_ to you, they were-" She was almost sobbing. "You killed Lynda and you would've killed Annie – you tried to kill me! Stop staring at me! Say something!" Her voice was cracking, rending her screams; tears were blurring her eyes. "I never did anything to you, I didn't even know you! But you – you killed everyone around me, you _killed_ them, and I had to – I had to-"

Live with it.

 _You're_ Laurie Strode _? Oh… oh wow. So, um… you're – you're_ his _sister, right?_

_So what it's like having the boogeyman as your brother?_

_I'm sorry, Mrs. Lloyd, you really seem like a good fit at our school, but… you know how kids are… their parents all know, and once they know… might affect classroom management and such…_

_No, no, it's fine Laurie, I've already got another babysitter, really… yeah, well, I've, um, got someone else I like to call on more, that's all…_

"Fuck you! Fuck, you son of a bitch – why did it have to be me?! Why did you come after _me_ , I didn't want you, I didn't need you-"

Her sobbing had become gasping, and – oh God, not another one, and she grabbed for her bottle, but her fingers were shaking so much they slipped on its surface –

And then, Michael _twitched_.

It was just a movement of his arms, his shoulders pulling forward an inch against his restraints – but his eyes were still fastened to her face, had not moved since she began her tirade –

Laurie screamed and almost fell over her chair. Scrambling back up, she ran for the door, pounding at it, crying incoherently – finally it opened and she tumbled out into a hallway was full of aides and nurses and doctors, but she rushed past all of them – crashed into a bathroom, and hurled into a toilet.

* * *

"I'm not helping."

"I beg to differ."

"He'll come after me now. I just – _screamed_ at him – called him _names_ -"

"He hasn't made any move to do so in the last eight years."

Laurie laughed wetly. The sound echoed in the bathroom, which she remained in long after the visit was over. "Why the _fuck_ not?"

"As always, I can't be sure." The doctor leaned against a sink, not perturbed at being in a women's restroom.

She blotted her eyes on her sleeve. "He tried to – to move towards me."

The doctor nodded. "I know. But he did stop as soon as you backed away. We don't know what his intentions were."

"To kill me?" Laurie suggested caustically.

The doctor shrugged, and Laurie felt the rage beginning to build on her again. He "saw" it, he said – then why was he so dismissive? Why did he keep trying to get her to come back?

As if reading her thoughts, he said, "For the next visit-"

She shook her head mutely. The doctor actually sighed.

"Mrs. Lloyd, however you feel about it, it _is_ helping him."

She snorted. "Yeah? How?"

He raised an eyebrow. "As his doctor, I am around him far more than you. Of course, I might just be projecting my own hopes onto him," Laurie wanted to ask him why the hell he should have any _hopes_ for the man, but decided to remain quiet, "but… he does seem less… tense, perhaps, after your visits. And marginally more responsive." He shrugged. "Not that he _is_ very responsive in the first place, but… I think he does react more easily, in the days after you come. Or reacts at all."

This just made Laurie feel queasy. She didn't want him opening up; she wanted him full-on catatonic and dead to the world. Dead to her.

"Listen," the doctor said quietly, "how about you call me to arrange the next visit? Perhaps give you time to think about it?" He smiled reassuringly when she nodded with seeming reluctance, and left her, indicating a nurse to stay to see her out.

Privately, she was grateful. No visit coming up. None she would ever make of her own will. Whatever Dr. Beckett said, this was not helping her. And if it was helping Michael, then she wanted it even less. He could stay where he was for the rest of his life, for all she cared.

* * *

The warm shower spray pelted her body, soothing away the migraine and the backache from the long car drive. Laurie relaxed in it, running her tangled hair through the stream. Steam soon filled the room, while water soaked the tiled floor, warming her even down to her toes. There was a constant chill in the sanitarium that was harder to dispel, like it had seeped under her skin. The smell of it also lingered, and she scrubbed hard with the soap, making sure to get all of it off.

"Mommy!"

Laurie dropped the soap back on its shelf. "Jamie, I'm in the shower!"

"But someone's at the door!"

She groaned. Just when she was getting comfortable. " _Okay._ Hold on, let me get out."

"Can I open it?"

"No. Just wait for me to get out."

She turned off the spray with some reluctance, shivering as she stepped into cold air – even with the heater on and the steam of the shower, it was still terribly chilly in their house. She dried her hair and tied the towel around her, then wrapped another over the rest of her body. If she was going to have to open the door, it'd be even colder.

Her daughter was not outside. A peek into the other bedroom did not reveal her either. "Jamie?"

Downstairs, she heard a door open.

_No._

Laurie ran down the stairs, dripping water over the carpet. "Jamie!" She hit the landing and turned, saw the door open, a dark shape looming over her tiny daughter. "Jamie, close it-!"

Jamie turned. "Mommy, it's Mrs. Elrod."

The shape morphed into that of a little old lady, wearing a pink bathrobe. Mrs. Elrod peered in, smiling vaguely. "Oh dear, did I catch you at a bad time? I'm sorry. I was just going through the mail and realized that we got one of your letters by mistake." As proof, she handed over a letter, clearly stamped with Laurie's name and address.

"Oh-" Flustered, Laurie pulled up short, and was hit by a blast of cold wind. "Yes, I – thank you, Mrs. Elrod." She took the letter.

Mrs. Elrod nodded, still wearing that slightly confused smile. Her eyes ran over Laurie, still in her towel. "Well, cold out! I'll let you get on with it." And she tottered down the steps back to her house.

As soon as the door was closed, Laurie grabbed her daughter. "Jamie! Why did you do that? I told you to wait for me to open the door!"

"But Mommy-"

"There could be strangers at the door! People who might want to kidnap you, or rob us, or-" _Murder you_ , a little shiver passing through Laurie – Michael standing over her daughter's bloody body, Michael grabbing John –

"But Mommy!" Jamie protested loudly, breaking through her thoughts. "The door was unlocked, so I thought it was okay…"

"What?!"

Laurie stared at the door, then grabbed it and turned the locks. Had she done that? Forgotten to lock it? Or…

She wheeled around the house, pulling Jamie with her. The dark corners of the room were suddenly foreboding, hiding strange shapes in them. Still dragging her daughter, Laurie flicked on all the lights, feeling a prickle.

"Where's John?" Laurie demanded.

"In his room." Jamie was pale and wide-eyed, her mother's fear infecting her.

"Go up there. Close the bedroom door, you hear me?"

Jamie did as she was told, rushing up the steps on all fours. Laurie whirled around the house, heedless of the cold, of her dripping hair, checking all the windows, the back door, pushing open closets. Her heart was pounding loud enough that she was sure her children could hear. Upstairs then – and she ran, looking out the balcony, throwing open closets and riffling through clothes, looking under the beds…

"Mommy?"

Laurie jerked, narrowly avoiding hitting her head on the frame. "John, stay in your room."

"But – what're you doing?"

"Nothing," she said confusedly, brushing past him. "Nothing – just stay there, let me go – do something-"

She rushed back down and picked up the phone, dialing a number.

It rang once. Twice. Laurie began twisting her fingers in her towel, which was now damp and cold. On the third ring, it was picked up.

"Dr. Beckett's office."

"Is he there?" she demanded.

"Who is this?"

 _"_ _Is he there?_ "

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

"Has he escaped? Is he still there? Is-"

"Mrs. Lloyd, if this is about Michael Myers, then I can assure you, he's still here."

She released her breath. The tension drained out of her, leaving her leaning against the wall for support. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely. No breakouts, no alarms, no emergencies all day. Just normal activity. I'll even call the guards to check the feed."

Laurie kneaded her forehead, heart still thumping. She felt as if her ribcage might break from how often it had been doing that. "Don't. I just… got scared."

"It's understandable." He did not ask for further information, which she silently thanked him for.

But _could_ it happen? Maybe he was stewing, waiting for the right opportunity. Maybe she'd set him off today and he was already planning how to find her. Her breathing picked up again at the mere thought, thinking of him in her house, coming after her children, her neighbors…

And it would be because of her. Because of her fucked-up family bloodline, her messed up mind, her stupid decision to scream at him.

"Dr. Beckett? I want to – to schedule my next… visit."

"Really – I mean, of course Mrs. Lloyd. Would the 4th work for you? Same time?"

She didn't even know what day that was, she just wanted to fix this horrible situation. "That's fine. See you then." Without waiting for a response, she hung up the phone. The familiar nausea was building up in her again. Push it down, she told herself, getting up. Push it back. This will help. It _had_ to help.

It had to work.

The door to the children's room squeaked as she opened it. Inside, Jamie and John were huddled together under the blankets, a scared and very obvious lump.

"Jamie? John? Everything… everything's okay. Come out. Let's talk about this."

_Twenty-nine days left._

* * *


	4. The Fourth Visit

"Can he see us?"

"No. One-way mirror. He's not be aware of our presence."

Laurie clutched her sweater around her arms nervously. It certainly seemed like Michael was aware of them. As soon as she had walked in front of the glass, his head had gone up, masked face peering at them. Like he had heard her, or smelled her.

Dr. Beckett said uncertainly, "I thought this might help with preparing you, being able to see him ahead of time. Sound doesn't penetrate, so we can station some aides to watch without breaking into your privacy."

She nodded, mouth drawn tight. Nervous anticipation bubbled in her chest; she both wanted to go in, to get the visit over with, but also, desperately, wanted to stay outside, where it was safe. The doctor stood by her side for a few moments, waiting patiently. Her brother looked the same. Same clothing, same long hair obscuring most of his face. His mask was once again different, though – entirely black, not even a hole for a mouth. Just two slits for his eyes. And through them, his gaze never left the glass.

When the pressure became unbearable, Laurie forced her legs to move to the door. She opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't quite make any sound. The doctor, understanding anyway, simply unlocked the door and let her walk inside.

"What does he do in there?" she asked. She twirled out the rings of the cord and let it snap back.

The line crackled as the doctor shifted. "Very little. He is confined to his room save for his daily therapy sessions. All his meals are taken in there, his bathroom needs – though he is let out every few days to bathe. From what the aides tell me, he generally spends his time making masks. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." The lie sounded unconvincing even to her. She flipped open _The Devil's Eyes_. "Just… wanted to know."

Not the full reason. She had Dr. Loomis's two books down because she had told herself she wanted to prepare better. She was a teacher, and what was she always telling her students? To study. "Luck favors the prepared." So she prepared. What motivated her brother? What illness did he have? How should she act around him to lower the chances of an attack?

* * *

_Psychopathy is not a recognized mental disorder. Perhaps the closest psychiatrists have to it is antisocial personality disorder, characterized by a disregard for right and wrong, laws and rules, and the emotions and feelings of others. More eminent doctors than myself, however, have developed checklists of traits seen in a psychopath: lack of empathy, an unwillingness to accept one's actions, behavioral problems, cruelty to animals and those weaker than themselves, and juvenile delinquency. With only a few exceptions, Michael Myers displayed all of these traits._

She hung up the phone and flipped a page. Her children were playing upstairs; judging by the volume of their voices, probably arguing over who got to use a favorite toy. A squeal and a small thump made her jump and start to stand, listening with that tight feeling in her chest. After a few seconds though, she heard the giggling start up again. Heaving a sigh, she sat down.

An odd emotion had been gnawing at her since the last visit. Not guilt. She would never, ever feel guilty for what she did. Not after what he had put her through. Put Annie through.

It felt like curiosity.

Laurie pressed her palm against her head. Shit. It felt sick to think of it that way. Like she was a creepy basement dweller obsessed with memorizing the lives of serial killers. But she only had one person in mind: her brother.

The word still made her shiver.

_Yet psychopathy, or even antisocial personality disorder, is not a purely genetic trait. Research has led me to subscribe to the diathesis-stress model, in which a genetic vulnerability to a mental illness, a defect if you will, lies dormant in a person, perhaps forever, unless activated by an accompanying environmental stressor - illness, trauma, the death of a loved one, or even ongoing tensions within one's family. To put it another way, nature and nurture, those two old foes, are not at war with each other, but working together._

_Unfortunately for Michael Myers and all who knew him, they were working together in him._

She closed her eyes, willing the words _(genetic vulnerability… defect)_ out of her head. Not important. Not in her. Not in her children. That was what Jimmy had said, a long time ago, when she had wanted to claw out her mind, claw out her blood and her skin and her flesh as if it might rid her of that link, that taint…

_We have described the boy himself, so let us proceed to those closest to him… By far the closest relationship he had, if we can ascribe such a word to him, was with his mother, Deborah Myers. By all accounts, her marriage with Don Myers was happy, and they were a typical, suburban middle-class family, with the man of the house providing the income while Mrs. Myers stayed at home. Their first child was a daughter, Judith Myers; seven years later they had Michael. Mrs. Myers was pregnant with her third child when her husband was killed in a car accident._

_It would be a defining moment not just for the family, but for Michael Myers himself. For that was when his descent into madness began._

Laurie slammed the book shut, breathing hard.

_"_ _It was the rain, you see? The roads were slippery, and with the fog... it was hard to see. Not his fault, he was doing everything right… he couldn't have been able to control the car, no matter how good a driver…"_

Not the same. _(Environmental stressor.)_ Not the same.

John yelled something and she heard a second thud. It took a conscious effort to continue sitting there, eyes closed, waiting for a rejoining shriek. Sure enough, it came.

She opened the book again, flipping through more pages until a word caught her eye.

_It was only a month into his stay at the sanitarium that Michael made his first mask. A crude thing, even for him, it was just a flat circle, with holes for eyes, scribbled black. When asked why he chose that color, he stated that it was his favorite. I found it fitting, for it matched the color of his soul._

She flipped some more.

_By this time, Michael was spending almost all his hours hidden behind a mask. His room was slowly becoming filled with them, hanging from the walls and (when those were taken up) from the ceiling. Aides told me that almost all his waking hours were spent making more. To them, it was a relief – the only thing needed to keep him content, they thought, was supplying him with stacks of old newspapers. To myself and his mother, however, it was a worrisome and steadily growing obsession._

_The reasons behind this hobby, as it were, are unclear, as things often are with Michael Myers. His mother reported that he was trying to hide his "ugliness" – most likely a lie to garner her sympathy, as it would imply some understanding of his monstrous actions (something he had never acknowledged in our sessions together). What was clear to me, however, was his exponential_ regression _. The more time spent behind the mask, the less he spoke, the less he interacted or even responded to the outside world. Perhaps he truly was hiding from the situation, unable to face what he had done._

_A more likely explanation, however, was that he was biding his time, waiting for the opportunity to strike._

Laurie snapped the cover shut. Memories were cascading through her skull. She shook away the images with hard desperation, dragging her fingernails across the leather chair. No Lynda. No Annie. No parents, lying hidden in their coffins because the corpses had been too gruesome to be displayed – her last memory waving goodbye as they sat on the doorstep. No Michael, rotting mask obscuring his face, standing over her.

Only when her heartbeat had calmed did she open the book again. She was on the last few paragraphs of the chapter.

_I saw this, some ten months after Michael's arrival at Smith's Grove. His mother, in what would be her last visit, had given him a present, perhaps as an inducement to act more normally, we shall say. Michael was at that point unresponsive even to her, and the visit ended shortly after. Thinking to discuss other treatment options with Mrs. Myers, I left Michael alone with a nurse. This nurse, whose family asked that she remain unnamed, was one of our oldest and most experienced. She had spent many years in the children's ward and had a good touch for them. There did not seem to be anything wrong with letting her watch over Michael for a few moments._

_Perhaps it was this experience that ultimately killed her. The nurse, used to her children, did not seem to know she was dealing with something entirely different. Video footage shows her picking up and examining Michael's present. The mistake cost the nurse her life. Possessive of those items he considered to be his, Michael took it as an insult, a threat. In retaliation, he stabbed the nurse in the neck with a fork. Aides descended in seconds, but despite their attempts, the nurse bled out and died on the sanitarium floor._

_His mother witnessed the entire thing._

Laurie's breath was picking up. She flipped through the pages to the photo inserts in the middle, pushing past them. The faces were familiar there only because of her many rereads – Deborah Myers, her biological mother; Judith Myers, the sister she did not know or remember; Michael Myers, photographed first as a cheerful young boy and, on the opposite page, glaring out of the page. Her fingers shook as she skimmed past that one.

_Photo of Michael Myers with his younger sister. Given as a present to him by his mother, almost ten months after his incarceration at Smith's Grove._

She closed the book and picked up the phone.

"Mrs. Lloyd." The doctor sounded tired.

Laurie did not question how he knew it was her. "The photo," she said. "He… still has it?"

A shuffle on the other end. "As far as I know? Yes. One of the aides spotted it in his cell. Er… sometimes he keeps it on his person as well. He takes it out when they take his clothes for laundry."

_But why?_

She had attacked him. She didn't regret it; he was insane, a serial killer. He had thought that killing all her friends and family would bring him… what? A happy family reunion? God. Whatever he had thought of her before, it had changed. She remembered crawling along the dusty attic as the floor was smashed from beneath her. Remembered him coming at her and throwing her over the balcony. Remembered holding a gun –

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Dispel the memories. Center yourself._

_Find out when you visit him._

She said, "That's all I wanted to know. I'll see you next week." And hung up the phone.

* * *

The instant she walked in, his gaze moved from the window to her. They stayed like that, locking his eyes into hers, for a long moment.

Laurie broke it, walking to the chair and sitting down. Some fragmented, rational part of her noted that she was dealing better with him this time. Maybe because now she had a goal in mind. It also reminded her to thank the doctor for letting her be able to see him ahead of time.

Or maybe, a less-rational part said, she was actually getting used to Michael Myers's presence.

The thought should have sent her into hysterics, but all she felt was a horrible calm.

God, she _was_ getting used to it.

A vision of the rest of her life stretched out before her. Monthly drives to the sanitarium. Excuses to give to neighbors and coworkers as she asked them for babysitting, for a day off. Jamie and John growing up. Wondering where she was going every month. Constantly looking over her should for a dark shape, a white mask; nerves wracked with every Halloween, leaving the television on the entire week before so that she could hear about any escape.

And _now_ she was shaking.

She pulled out her bottle and twisted it open, almost dropping the cap in her haste. Pouring out two small pills, she gulped them down, swallowing quickly.

When she looked up, Michael was still staring at her, but with a more focused intensity. Like he was curious, maybe. At least, that's what she thought he might be thinking, near as she could tell with his mask on. Did crazy people feel curiosity? Did Michael Myers.

"It's for panic attacks," she explained. Winced as her voice echoed loudly around the room, even with the tinny classical music playing over them. Michael's gaze did not waver. "I – I need it…" She trailed off, feeling the futility of it all. He had not even looked at the bottle. Nobody cared about her messed up head, least of all the brother responsible for it.

 _Remember what you want to find out._ Straightening, she said, "Michael…"

He seemed to twitch, his shoulders coming up, and Laurie withheld a gasp. The pills were slowly working, easing her nerves… she hoped.

"I…" _I hate you. I want you gone. I wish you had never come into my life._ "I have to… take these… because whenever I'm here… it – it gets hard to – to breathe – or think." She swallowed. "And – and I have to take other – other things at home, because… because ever since you – _you_ came – I just…" She began twisting her fingers in her sweater again. "When I hear something loud I think it's you at the door, or walking towards me… or if I see any – any blood – I start to – panic… And I can't drive down a street… or go to certain houses…" She wiped her face. "Or watch certain shows… and can't… if I see people in costumes, it just… I can't think…"

Her breaths were coming in shaky, yet the rest of her seemed weirdly steady. She felt like she was floating half out of herself, looking down at her paralyzed body and analyzing its reactions, both aware and yet detached from what she was thinking. Another breath – she had been staring at the table the entire time – and she looked up, to see Michael begin to tilt his head again, long hair drifting off one shoulder.

It was almost like he was _listening_ to her.

She rubbed her nails nervously, feeling the silence fall on them again. Weren't visits supposed to involve the patient talking too? She couldn't just sit here, doing all the talking, could she? He had to say something.

But he hadn't said anything in over twenty years.

Laurie took another breath and looked back down at the table – it was too difficult to maintain her gaze. If she just kept talking about herself, then maybe she could get through this. Maybe Michael would react enough that she could get a bead on just _what_ he wanted.

"When I got out of the hospital… afterwards… they had to send me to see someone." Michael continued looking at her. She wondered vaguely if he _related_ , in some way. He was in a mental institution, he'd maybe understand this sort of thing, right? "I saw Barbara – my therapist – for over two years, where she would just… let me talk and tell me how to… how to deal with things when it became too – hard." Her fingers slowed their nervous wringing. "Just sat there, really, and got paid for listening. Sometimes… she helped. I guess. Once I got put on the – the right medication… I stopped seeing her after a while. Didn't need her… judging me."

 _That's what she's_ supposed _to do, Laurie, my God,_ Annie had said to her once. Annie had gone through the messed up shit Laurie had, but she hadn't understood that uncomfortable feeling of being analyzed, of being judged abnormal, of wondering if this person actually cared for her wellbeing or for her money.

"Everyone says trauma is supposed to bring people together," Laurie murmured, unaware of the change in topic she had just taken. "But with us, it was like… we didn't want to remember that shit. She didn't want to. We couldn't really be in the same room anymore after a while, because we kept reminding each other." She traced the scar on her cheek absentmindedly. "Eventually she moved out of town. Sometimes she calls."

With a sudden jolt, she realized she had been talking about Annie, out loud, to her attacker. A wave of illness overcame her. That was completely fucked up of her – how could she say all that? What if he went after Annie again? Tried to finish the job? It'd be Laurie's fault, Laurie bringing it on her again.

Frantically, she went through everything she had just said – had she said where Annie lived? She didn't think so. It wasn't in Haddonfield; it wasn't even in the state – that should be safe? Had she said when she moved out? It had been two years after the attack – no, she didn't think so. Had she even said it was Annie she was talking about? No – no, she didn't think so. Laurie took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It was okay. Fine. Annie was safe.

But it made her realize how limited she was in things she could talk about. How she had to dance around certainties. She was still living in Haddonfield, but she couldn't say that – it would just make it easier for Michael to find her if he broke out. (Shit, _had_ she somehow implied she still lived there? She couldn't remember.) She couldn't talk about where she worked – he'd know it, it was the school he went to. Or most of all, talk about her children. God, if he knew about them – it would put them in danger, make them targets.

She looked up and realized, with another lurch of her gut, that her brother was _still_ staring at her, still with that implacable, unblinking gaze. Was he taking it all in? Figuring her out? Laurie felt the familiar nausea twisting her stomach, the uneasy awareness that this was a _bad idea_ –

If only she could know what he was thinking. She couldn't even see most of his face, let alone discern his expression.

She stood up. Michael's head came up as well, following her. Slowly, she walked away from the chair and around the table, coming closer to him with every step. She could hear his breathing, heavy and measured behind the mask, discordant with her own erratic little gulps of air.

There was some inner sense of danger screaming at her to stop, but it was like she was hovering over her own body, watching herself move and unable to stop. Unwilling, even. Her eyes locked with Michael's and held there; it was as if he too was compelling her to move closer.

 _They're not black,_ she realized detachedly. _Not like the book said. They're not black._

She was now the closest she could ever remember being to him. Other than that time in the cellar when she had stabbed him. Other than when she had sat atop him and shot him in the head. She could see the manacles holding his arms behind his back, looped to a wide belt around his waist. She could make out as well the tatters of his clothing, the loose threads along the seams; there was even a small hole in his shirt. The hard ridges of the mask were discernible, the individual marks of crayons, were visible. She could even smell him. He smelled like the sanitarium – faintly chemical.

Her hand reached out and hooked itself under the mask, near his jaw, and stopped.

Michael looked at her.

She teetered there, on the edge of tearing it off. What was going on in his head? What was he planning? She could feel his hot breath against her skin; her fingertips were centimeters from actually touching him, so close she could feel the hairs of his stubble brushing against them, the warmth of his skin.

He looked at her.

 _They're not black,_ she thought, _and not dead inside. They're almost…_

Inviting her in…

She jerked back, pulling her hand away without taking the mask. The walls were beginning to pull in on her, trapping her inside. Her pulse racing, she turned and ran to the door and, as soon as it opened, fled outside.

Dr. Beckett was staring as she came out, mouth open. She didn't want to look at him, to talk to him, and sped away, but the man followed her, shouting her name –

"No!"

"Mrs. Lloyd-"

"No! I don't want to talk about it, I'm not scheduling another-"

"No, Mrs. Lloyd, you don't understand – he let you touch his mask!"

She stopped dead in her tracks.

Dr. Beckett was panting slightly as he caught up with her, for once looking quite agitated. "His masks – he doesn't like it when people touch them. Especially if he's, well, wearing it. There have been, um, incidents…"

Laurie's blood ran cold; she could easily imagine just what kind of incidents there had been. Without thinking, she looked back over her shoulder, expecting to see Michael come raging out to attack her.

"But you – he let you touch them."

He looked almost elated, she thought, a sick feeling blooming in her stomach. She could almost imagine what he was thinking: the baby sister, establishing a relationship with her murderous older brother, helping doctors to understand what was going on in their most dangerous patient.

She couldn't stand to look at him. Without another word, she whirled out of there, ignoring the doctor's shouts.

* * *

"So let's talk about Chapter 3. You all should have read it for homework, so, any initial thoughts?"

Silence.

"Come on, guys. Wasn't it an interesting chapter?" A low murmur that might be taken for agreement. "So let's talk about it. Who did we meet in this chapter? … Come on, guys, don't make me pull out the Popsicle sticks... Yes, Katherine?"

"Uh, that girl, Cherry?"

"Right, we met Cherry. What else? Sydney?"

"Ponyboy seems to like her."

"He does, doesn't he? Is that a good thing?"

"No. I mean, it's kind of good, but she's a Soc, and he's a Greaser, so… it's good, but it's also not good at the same time."

"Explain more."

"I mean, she has a boyfriend already-"

"Yeah, and he beat up Johnny, so that's bad-"

"I'll get to you in a bit, Sam, but let's let Sydney finish up her thought."

"Well, he beat her up. And Cherry's a Soc, so she's richer and stuff. And she didn't like Dally at first."

"Why not? Sam?"

"She's richer, so it's like… _Romeo and Juliet_ , you know? Their families and stuff are fighting."

"Ooh, reading _Romeo and Juliet_ already, Sam?" A burst of laughter. "All right, but let's go back to something Sydney said, about not liking Dally. Why not?"

"He's a Greaser."

"Uh huh. And what about Ponyboy?"

"She didn't like him either, at first… cause he's a Greaser also. But later she started liking him."

"So what does this show us? Joshua?"

"Don't judge a book by its cover!"

General laughter.

"Sure, yeah! But explain more, Josh."

"Um… well, at first she probably thought Ponyboy was mean and hard like Dally is. But when she started talking to him, she realized he's actually kind of nice, and smart, and she liked him. So you know… it's like, maybe you think someone is one way, but it turns out they're a bit different than you might expect. You just kind of have to talk to them and get to know them."

"Um… does everyone agree? …Right. Yeah. Something we all know and try to do, right? Um… let's move on. What about the end? What was important there?"

* * *

By the time Laurie got out of her classroom, the flood of children had slowed to a trickle. Most had been picked up, alleviating the traffic in the streets around the school. Some of the older, middle school children were still hanging around, and they waved at Laurie as she passed by. A few younger ones, accompanied by their parents, hurried across the street to the nearby homes.

She found her twins seated near the flag pole. Jamie's dark hair was pulled into a braid, which she was using to hit John, mainly by "turning" her head at every provocation.

"Ow! Stop it Jamie!"

"I'm just looking at the car!" _Whack._

"Stop it! No you're not!"

"But there's a dog there!" _Whack._

Laurie walked up to them. "Kids, stop it." She took both of their hands and started making their way to the parking lot. Unperturbed, Jamie skipped alongside her.

"Mommy, today Mrs. Chambers gave us no homework!"

"Really? Guess I'd better talk to her about changing that…"

"Mom!" That was John. "It's because we had a sub today, so she let us finish in class."

They had made their way to the car. "Well good for you." She unlocked the door. "Guess you can help me wash the dishes-"

"Ew!"

"Do the laundry…"

"Mommy!"

"Clear up the backyard…"

"MOM!"

Laurie snorted. "I'm kidding. Come on, toss your backpacks in." They did, clambering into the seats. "Hey, remember your seatbelts." Once they had clicked in, she started up the car.

"Hey Mommy?"

"Yeah, Jamie?"

"Where'd you go yesterday?"

Laurie froze. "Yesterday?"

"Uh huh, when you had Rachel babysitting us again."

"Oh. Well…" She cleared her throat. "Just the same old place, out of Haddonfield."

John had screw up his face. "Like last time? To see someone?"

"Yeah."

"Will we ever get to see them?" asked Jamie.

Laurie turned just a little too sharply. " _No._ I mean – not right now, Jamie. It's just… grownup stuff."

"Oh." _Boring_ , she could practically hear her twins thinking, and thankfully it got them off the topic.

And yet…

_"_ _Have you considered bringing your children?"_

She shook her head. What a joke. As if she'd bring her children to a mental institution. As if she wanted Michael to know that they even existed, let alone what they looked like.

_"_ _I know it sounds ludicrous, but… listen to me, Mrs. Lloyd. Say that he does break out. He tracks you down, comes to your house, and finds them. He won't recognize them. He won't know who they are. What do you think might happen?"_

They turned up the sloped driveway, parking the car. Almost before it had stopped, the children were unbuckling themselves and leaping out – probably eager to run upstairs and start playing, seeing as they did not have the drudgery of homework waiting for them. Laurie, shaking her head, followed them up the steps, deliberately taking her time amidst their impatient bouncing.

_"_ _Just think about it. At the very least, your children will know what he looks like, so they can avoid him if he does escape. We'll keep him under full restraints and watch him the entire time. The guards will be on high alert."_

"Mommy!"

"I'm getting it, I'm getting it!" Laurie said, with a humor she could not quite feel. The twins piled through the door, almost tripping each other going up the steps.

_"_ _I think you must see by now that he does act… differently, perhaps, with you. It might be well if we could extend that bond to those closest to you."_

"Guys, watch the steps!" she shouted – futilely, as Jamie tripped over one and almost fell flat on her face. Shaking her head, Laurie dropped her keys in a nearby bowl.

_Twenty-nine days left._


	5. The Fifth Visit

_The past_

_"_ _Who… was… he?"_

_A sigh._

_"_ _His name is Michael Myers."_

_"…_ _Myers?"_

_"_ _Yeah. You've probably heard of him. Used to live here in Haddonfield. Seventeen years ago, he killed his sister and three others. Two of them were also in his house. One was a kid about his age."_

_"_ _He… he…?"_

_"_ _They had him locked up in a sanitarium, far away from here. A few nights ago, he broke out. Came back here."_

_Breath._

_"_ _Why… me?"_

_Eyes lowering._

_"…_ _I don't know. We'll be looking into that. But what matters is you're safe."_

_"…_ _Safe?"_

_"_ _Yeah. We got him, Laurie."_

_"…_ _Got him?"_

_"_ _Police picked him up around the time we found you. They've already sent him back."_

_"_ Back _?"_

_"_ _Yeah."_

His name is Michael Myers…

 _Is_ Michael Myers…

_"_ _He's… alive?"_

_"…_ _Yes. The shot – it grazed his head, didn't quite hit his brain. Lost a lot of blood from the other shots, but Jesus… guy is almost inhuman."_

_"_ _No…"_

_"_ _Laurie, he'll be locked up again, under even tighter security. He won't come out again."_

_"_ _No!"_

_"_ _Shit… nurse! Nurse, I need a nurse!"_

* * *

_The present_

"A pencil?" The receptionist frowned. "Let me check with Dr. Beckett." She picked up the phone and dialed a number, still pursing her lips.

Laurie sighed, tapping said offending object against the marble table. She shifted the heavy pile of papers from her right arm to her left. All the visits were taking their toll on her grading; with the stress of anticipation the week before each visit, and the nervous letdown for a week after, it meant two weeks where she was useless at home. She could barely drag herself to the school some days, fighting with painful effort to keep smiling at her students, to get them through each lesson. Some days she would just give up and have them watch a movie instead, so that she could close her eyes and push away thoughts of Michael standing at the window, staring up at her…

So in an attempt to catch up, she had decided to bring some work with her. It wasn't as if Michael talked much, or did anything, right? And she was not going to spend the entire half hour filling up the silence. She'd done her research, checked up on what was allowed into visiting areas, and paper and pencil was definitely on the list, so long as it was not given to the patient.

Then again, those rules applied when visiting normal patients, not maximum security ones.

The receptionist was nodded, speaking too softly for Laurie to hear. After a few more seconds, she hung up the phone. "He says it's all right. Just don't leave it behind."

Laurie nodded. Obvious. She allowed herself to be escorted through the layers of doors, dropping her purse in the same locker. The ever-present bottle of pills rattled in her long coat as she walked to the visitor's area, and banged against her leg as she sat down.

She noticed something different, then. The chairs and tables weren't bolted down.

* * *

"Hey Laurie."

Laurie blinked as she held the phone, recognizing the lilting, slightly throaty voice. "Annie?"

"Mm hmm."

"Oh. Oh wow. Annie! Um… how are things?"

"About the same." Annie had decided to go into accounting. Something safe, normal, and where Annie would probably never encounter any blood or injuries. Laurie sympathized. It was why she had finally chosen to go into teaching.

But then they had to take CPR lessons, and – she still flushed with humiliation at the thought of it – in the middle of pumping the dummy's chest, Laurie had suddenly found herself bent over Lynda's nude body, begging for her to wake up. Stupid, it had looked nothing like Lynda, but that was what she saw. And when a dark shape approached, she had screamed, lashing out and hitting it, before fleeing the room. Later, she found out it had been the instructor coming to check on her.

Jimmy had finally given her lessons. He had said that his were better anyway.

"How's your dad?" asked Laurie, shaking off the memories.

"Same too. He likes retirement. Says this place needs more looking after."

They had moved to California, where it was constantly warm and autumn barely noticeable, to a neighborhood full of elderly couples and singles living alone. Less chance of Halloween celebrations or trick-or-treaters decked out in costume.

"What are you up to? Anything new?" asked Annie.

 _Yeah, I'm visiting my psycho brother and trying to make sure I don't have a panic attack every time I go._ But Annie hated to have the subject brought up. That had been another difference between them. Annie didn't like to think about that night. She didn't want to talk about it. She'd rather move someplace completely unfamiliar, so long as it didn't trigger any memories. When her father had been trying to sell the house, she had pleaded with Laurie to stop apartment searching and to just come with them. What was so great about Haddonfield anymore that she wanted to stay?

Laurie could not explain it, not when she felt so similar to Annie in some ways. She couldn't stand Halloween anymore either. She would call in a substitute teacher on that day, so that she didn't have to see the kids in costumes. She could not go to certain homes or streets. She hated to be out at night, thinking that each person walking in the evenings was _him_ , come to kill her. Her own children did not celebrate Halloween, despite their pleas. So why didn't she leave?

She didn't know, only that she felt as if moving would be running away. Giving in to her messed up brain. If she just stayed and toughed it out, she explained to Annie, it would all get better. Things would go back to normal. "They'll _never_ go back to normal," had been Annie's reply. And in a month, the house had been sold, the furniture packed up, and the Bracketts gone, to a town where Michael Myers was an unknown name.

"I'm just… teaching. Kids are pretty good this year."

"That's nice. They're probably going to make me a full-time employee, so I can finally get out of Dad's hair."

Annie had taken a while to decide what to do as well. Laurie hadn't figured it out in her last year of high school. _"You haven't even finished applying yet, sweetie,"_ her mother ( _adoptive mother_ , her mind hissed) had said. _"Just focus on getting into a good school. There's plenty of time to decide what you want to do. We'll talk about it then."_

But they hadn't, and then they were dead and Laurie had left her college applications unfinished her last year of high school, and spent the next year wandering in a haze of confusion grief and and loneliness.

"Find anyone… special?" There was a distinctively casual, subtly flirty air to Annie's voice now. It made her seem younger, more like the friend Laurie had played with since elementary school.

"No." Laurie forced a laugh she didn't feel, because she rarely heard Annie sound like that anymore. "You know Jimmy was the only guy for me."

"Oh _come on_ , Laurie. The guy was great, but you've got to move on. Find some other men. You know, I think Ben Tramer's still around…"

"Ben Tramer's been married the last five years," exclaimed Laurie with real amusement now. "I'm pretty sure he has a kid, too."

"Oh. Huh. Well, his loss." She could almost imagine Annie shrugging it off. "My point still stands. Seriously Laurie, when Jimmy was around, you were the happiest I'd ever seen you. You need a guy in your life!"

Annie sounded like him…

 _"_ _Look,"_ Jimmy had said, _"I know things have changed a lot since back in high school, but sometimes it helps to go back to that. What made you happy then? What'd you like to do?"_

Other than being with her friends, talking to her family? It had taken a long while to remember, to come out of her haze and actually try to recall what it had been like to be happy, to be carefree. But she had remembered that she liked babysitting.

_"_ _You like kids, then? Maybe think about going into teaching. It doesn't have to be with kids like the age you babysat, either. Older kids still need teachers. If not, we'll think about it some more. We've got plenty of time."_

She sighed. "I've got Jamie and John, and teaching. It's kind of hard to find time to date."

"Well, _try_. Do you really not have _anybody_ new?"

She did… but Laurie shoved the thought away, hard. "No. No, nobody new."

* * *

"I remember it started after reading Dr. Loomis's book." She snatched a glance up at Michael, wondering if he would react to the name. He didn't. As always, his eyes remained fastened to her face. She wondered if he ever blinked – she certainly hadn't caught him doing that. What did he find so fascinating anyway? She had thought that maybe he was staring into space, but she was a teacher; she could spot a glazed look a mile away, and that was not what she was getting from Michael. He seemed interested. She just didn't know why.

Laurie picked at a paper, not seeing the words written on there. "I read the second one, and I found out about… me…" She curled the corner with her fingers. "And then I went back and re-read the first one and looked at all the photos. Of… Judith Myers. My sister." The word felt strange on her tongue, when for nineteen years she had thought herself an only child. "Deborah Myers. I started having nightmares then. Seeing… um… my mother."

It felt so odd to call her that. "Mother" would always be Cynthia Strode, cheerful and bustling around, making sure her absentminded father wasn't tripping over his own briefcase going out the door. It did not feel like Deborah Myers, of whom she had no memory except as a smiling woman in a photograph.

"I would dream about her, and sometimes of… you."

After seeing a photo of her brother as a child. Strangely, she did not dream of Judith; it was always Deborah Myers and Michael. She would dream they were following her, nebulous figures staring at her, never speaking, but waiting for something she could not guess. All she knew was that she would wake up from those dreams soaked with sweat, a scream lodged in the back of her throat and looking frantically around the room for those same figures, so convinced that they were real.

"And then it got worse… I started seeing them even when I was awake."

She had woken up, looked around, and actually screamed, because Deborah Myers was standing near her closet, beckoning her. She had screamed so much that Sheriff Brackett had come running in with his gun drawn, thinking she was under attack. In the panic, he had turned on the lights, making the figure of Deborah Myers disappear.

"Hallucinations. That's what my therapist said. She said it could be stress. Not sleeping well. Even my PTSD. They tried medication. Eventually it went away."

Most of the time. Sometimes she would see it again – a flash of white in the corner of her eye, the figure of a boy, but gone when she turned around.

"Sometimes I see you."

He'd appear in the reflection of her mirror, or against the glass of a window. The first time, she had whirled around and hurled a mug in that direction, only to see it shatter in the empty kitchen. The second time, she had simply froze where she stood until it disappeared. Now, she would close her eyes and count to ten, heart in her throat the entire time. It had worked, so far.

Michael was still looking at her. As always, the gaze made goosebumps stand on her skin, and she wondered if he had heard or understood anything she had just said. Did he care at all that he was the cause of this? The urge to see his face under the mask came over her once more, but she resisted, the doctor's words from her last visit echoing in her mind.

She tapped her pencil on the paper, words drying up. And just like before, she was the first to break the gaze. As she stared down at the worksheet, she thought she saw Michael shift, adjusting his arms. Was he uncomfortable, being restrained like that? Then she shook herself. Who cared about his discomfort? If it kept him from attacking her, or anyone else, then she was definitely in favor of it.

Shaking her head, she tried to get back to grading, but she had broken her concentration – now aware of Michael all over again, it was difficult to work, knowing he was staring at her the entire time.

If only she could see his face.

"You must really like masks, huh?" she blurted out. "Is that all you do here, is make them?" She looked at the one he was wearing, trying (but probably failing) at making her stare as uncomfortably intense as his was. The doctor's words rang like a warning, and she knew she was probably taking a big risk just talking about his masks, but shit – she had been coming here for the last five months, disrupting her life and her children's lives, and with nothing to show for it, so why the hell not?

"They don't look very good," she continued recklessly. They didn't – for someone who supposedly spent years making similar masks, the papier-mâché was crudely laid on. "How much time did you spend on it? A few minutes?" Dabs of dried glue could be seen around the edges. The holes for eyes looked as if they had been torn out, and only a rough attempt at coloring had been made – like someone had scribbled red crayon over most of it and thought it good enough.

She stood up. "Take it off."

Michael's head tilted, the hair falling out of his face.

"Take if off!" she demanded, coming around the table towards him – realizing suddenly that her hand was moving of its own accord for the mask –

Michael jerked his arms up. The movement caused his wrists to pull against his cuffs. Laurie heard the chains rattle against the chair, and then squeak as they were pulled taut against the belt.

She leaped back, almost screaming, and crashed against the table edge. Without bothering to grab her things, she ran for the door and fled, once again, into the hallway.

* * *

"Mrs. Lloyd, please understand, that was not necessarily a bad thing."

Laurie released a hysterical sob. "He tried to attack me!"

"We don't know that."

"Then what do you think it is?" she almost shrieked – almost said, but just managed to bite back, _whose side are you on?_

"He reacted, Mrs. Lloyd." There was an undercurrent of excitement under the calm overtones. "Usually he barely reacts to anything I say, barely even seems to notice what's going on around him."

"So this is a _good_ thing?" Laurie exclaimed. "That he's – he's – waking up or – getting ready to kill me or-"

"No, no, Mrs. Lloyd," Dr. Beckett said, looking shocked at the very thought. "It's just as likely that he was responding to your, erm, request."

She stared at him, then began to laugh, bitterness turning it harsh. "Responding? So he was actually trying to do it because… what, I _asked_ him to?"

"It's a possibility."

"It's _wrong_!" The hall rang with her voice. "He doesn't want anything to do with me, he wants to kill me! He spent Halloween night trying to find me, and when he did he tried to kill me!"

"I find that difficult to believe, given what we've seen of his behavior." When she looked away, Dr. Beckett sighed, placing his hands in his pockets. "I am on your side, Mrs. Lloyd. When I first came to this case, having read Dr. Loomis's case files and the police reports, that is what I believed of him too." He hesitated, eyes distant. "I don't know what went on exactly between you two on Halloween – I do not need to know, Mrs. Lloyd, I am not your doctor and that is your personal information. But… am I correct in thinking that maybe he did not, initially, try to kill you?"

Laurie looked away. That seemed to be answer enough for him.

"Dr. Loomis did think he had a sort of obsession with you. In his files – not his book, mind you, but his private reports – he could not seem to decide if it was a good or a bad thing. That might explain why he did not try to exploit it – to use that obsession to try to understand his patient. He eventually settled on bad, which is understandable, given what he saw and especially after what happened to him Halloween night. But my own observations differ somewhat from his. I do think there is something there, though like Sam, I don't know yet if it's for good or ill. And… callous as it is… I, unlike Dr. Loomis, _am_ trying to take advantage of it." He shrugged. "Michael Myers is my patient. I want to help him because I am here to help him. But admittedly, it would also be quite beneficial to me, personally."

Laurie waited, not sure what to say. Was this supposed to convince her…?

"So yes, I called you in to see if we could create some kind of reaction in him. I was not expecting much… even his mother could not get him to respond after a while. But still… that photograph…" He frowned, but did not continue the thought, even when Laurie looked at him. "Well, anyway… you can call it wishful thinking, but I do think his reactions have been, shall we say, positive?"

She continued to look at him, not quite believing what she was hearing.

"His alertness around you, his docility… the fact that you can touch his mask without him attacking-"

"Am I supposed to be _thankful_ for that?" she interrupted.

He shrugged helplessly. "With Michael Myers? Maybe." When she did not respond, he continued, "It may seem like very little to you, and certainly frightening, but I have been observing him for the last eight years, and this is more than I ever seen in all that time. You are helping him – and helping yourself."

Laurie swung her head up. "Helping myself?" She stood on wobbly legs, pressing an arm into the window sill. "I can't stand to be in the same _room_ as him for more than half an hour. I have panic attacks _every_ time I come here. When I go home, I jump at every sound. I can't let my children answer the door because I think _he_ will be there. I can barely let them go to school because I'm afraid he'll have broken out and taken them."

"Yes, yes," he said, holding his hands up in a placating motion. "No, I should have been clearer – psychologically, it is a toll, and I am sorry. Were there any other way, I would suggest it. What I meant, perhaps, was what I said the first time I called – so long as he stays, you will come. You will visit. Escaping means he will lose that. In some way, you are giving him a reason to stay here, and so keeping yourself safe, at least physically."

She closed her eyes, the conversation playing back like a recording. It had been burned into her memory, those words. She went over them the nights before and after each of her visits, wondering if the doctor was correct. Or maybe he had gone just as crazy as his patients.

"And…" she said numbly, "what is to stop him from deciding that… the visits aren't enough… and that he should come out and just… see me?" _See me all the time, trapped with my psychopathic brother for the rest of my life…_

Another shrug. "I don't know." Laurie rolled her eyes. "But I do know this – stopping them would probably have a far more harmful effect than continuing them."

She didn't answer, preferring to look out the window. The sun was shining dully over the small yard outside. Some patients were sitting out there, accompanied by a few nurses, and she watched one of them shuffle near the wall.

Dr. Beckett cleared his throat after a moment. "I know this is not the best time, but you did notice that the furniture was not bolted down this time?" Laurie nodded, still watching the distant patient. "I thought it might be a way of, maybe rewarding behavior. Being more responsive, showing a lack of aggression – it's a way of providing positive reinforcement for them. Loosening of restraints, so to speak. And speaking of restraints… perhaps next time we might remove them."

She snapped her head around, patient forgotten. " _What?_ "

"Not all of them. Maybe remove the handcuffs, but keep him held to the chair and make sure he can't walk-"

"No!" It was completely crazy – let her psycho brother have _more_ freedom?

"Security will remain the same. Cameras in the room, guards at the window – we'll have them inside too, just at a distance-"

"But-" The idea of guards with her mollified her for a second.

Dr. Beckett swooped in, taking the advantage. "Then we'll try it. Just one visit. If he does anything threatening, it will be just like before. One visit, Mrs. Lloyd?"

She tightened her grip on the window. One visit. She could do one visit, right? And it would not be as if all his manacles were off –

And maybe, if he did attack her, she could end this insanity and never come back again.

She nodded.

* * *

She didn't remember the dream afterwards. Only the dread lingered – the feeling that something dark, something evil, was lurking around her. And the heavy weight of the nightmare world – that stayed with her as well. She could not remember the details of it, but the overpowering sense of foreboding was there.

What she also remembered was waking up screaming. Her throat was burning, as if she had been doing it for hours. Her sheets were soaked with sweat and cold in the night air; one of them was twisted around her leg, the rest kicked off. She was still crying even as she realized where she was, not knowing why, only thinking that something had happened in the dream that had terrified her into wakefulness.

"Mommy?"

Laurie gasped, gulping air down her raw throat. She flailed about, momentarily confused – then her eyes landed on the alarm clock at her table, the window lightening the familiar contours of the room.

She put a hand to her head. A dream.

"Mommy?" There was a hesitant knocking at the door. "Are you okay?"

And she had awakened her children. She curled her hand into a fist against her eyes. That was the last thing she wanted to do – to let her children see her distress. It had frightened her as a child, to see her parents on the rare occasion when they had cried or been afraid. She didn't want Jamie and John to see it too.

Too fucking late.

"Mommy?"

She swung herself out of the bed, shivering still. "It's okay," she called out to the closed door. "I'm all right."

"You were screaming," John murmured fearfully. "It woke us up."

A sigh, and Laurie opened the door. Her two twins stood in the doorway, illuminated by the moonlight, both in their pajamas. Jamie's hair was pulled into a braid falling to her back, while John's was tangled and falling over his eyes.

"See?" she said, in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. "Perfectly fine."

Jamie rubbed an eye. "Were you having a bad dream?"

"Um…" Oh well. "Yeah, sweetie. But I'm awake now, so I'm fine."

"You sure?" John mumbled, his stifled yawn still not hiding the concern in his voice.

She smiled wanly. "I'm sure, honey. Come on, back to bed with you both."

The two trotted off to their room, Jamie wobbling like she was about to fall asleep while she walked. Laurie shut the door and went to her medicine cabinet. _Take one for to prevent disturbing dreams and to induce sleep._

Strangely, as she lay in bed, slowly growing drowsier with each second, she remembered Dr. Beckett's other suggestion:

_Have you considered bringing your children?_

She rolled over, punching her pillow into shape. No, she thought hazily as she fell off to sleep, thinking of their pale little faces, their round eyes filled with fear. Not them. Not ever.

_Twenty-nine days left._


	6. The Sixth Visit

"They're starting to ask me where I keep going off every month," said Laurie. She scribbled out a comment on one of the papers she was grading and rephrased it in a kinder way, squinting at her work. "I tried going on weekends, but then I have to get a babysitter. But if I want to go on the weekdays, I have to take a day off, and…" She shrugged.

Michael just kept looking at her. It did not disturb her; coming now for six months (she could not believe, thinking it, but that was how much time had passed, amazingly), it had begun to lose its discomfiting effect, like she had built up a callus to it. Without his restraints, he had rested his hands on his legs, and hadn't moved from that position since. If she stayed on the other side of the table, she could pretend to herself that it was just like the other visits.

"Sometimes I'd say I was sick, other times I'd take a grading day, or say I have a meeting to go to," she continued. "But then they notice if I do that and I'm still behind on work." She flipped over the paper, scrawling out a grade and placing it in a slowly growing pile on her left. "And I don't like leaving the kids a lot."

Laurie sighed, rubbing her eyes. The room had a window, but the light wasn't very good, nor were the fluorescent lamps holding up well either. It would be better if she could move her chair to the left side of the table, so that the light angled across her work.

But that, of course, would put her closer to her brother.

In an attempt to put off the decision, she said, "They watch me." She scoffed. "It makes me sound paranoid, but a while ago, there was a… a book. People were angry about it, but some bought it anyway, and it… it told them who I was. Am."

It had been a slow thing, and had Laurie not been forewarned, she might not even have noticed it initially. Strange looks from her coworkers. Neighbors crossing the street when she walked. Children whispering to each other when she passed. All of a sudden, she was no longer Laurie Strode, daughter of Mason and Cynthia Strode, what a sweet girl, such a good babysitter, always reliable, gets good grades, probably going to do very well for herself. Now she was Angel Myers, sister of Haddonfield's only serial killer, they resemble each other, she had some problems in elementary school, guess that's why everyone close to her had been attacked, might crack from the stress of it…

"I couldn't get a job my first year," she mumbled, staring at her paper. "There were several openings, but it just didn't work out. And when I did, it was… hard."

_It had been the sixth time the principal had visited her classroom, and she had only been teaching for two months. She noticed that he would grow more alert whenever she bent near a student._

_Her support teacher told her that she should try not to touch her students in any way. No, she didn't think she was doing anything wrong, anything perverted. Just that it might make them nervous. With her background and all._

_The parents would sometimes stare at her a little too sharply during conferences. The assistant principal advised her not to sound too angry during them (she had not been angry at all). He also said that he would sit in on all of them, just to make sure nothing got out of hand._

"I think the people I liked best were the ones who didn't care," she said. "Like, they really did not know or did not care. There were people who tried to act nice and like it was no big deal, but…"

_They looked at her with pity and too-bright smiles, oh, it was just bad luck, everyone knew murderous tendencies were not in the genes, said as they stood feet away from her and avoided any topic that had to do with death and attacks and killing…_

"Oh, there was one guy who was obsessed with famous murderers."

 _He looked at her with intense fascination and said that it was_ so _interesting that their own town had such an infamous serial killer,_ and _he had come back and she was the survivor_ and _a relative, and it must have been terrible (was it terrible?) and seen horrible things (so what_ did _he do exactly?) and she must read Dr. Loomis's book, it explained_ so _much about the killer's psychology (did_ you _see any of that?)…_

She tapped the paper pensively. It was only twenty minutes into the visit, and she did not want to make the drive back yet. Maybe finish one class worth of work…

That wouldn't happen, though, if she kept working where she was. She bit her lip, considering it. Six months ago, she wouldn't have considered doing this – the further from Michael, the better, would have been her thought – but he was just so silent and unmoving that it was getting harder to keep herself alert.

Or maybe, she thought with a flash of paranoia, that was what he wanted her to think.

Still tapping her pencil, she chanced a look down at his chair. They had kept his legs chained together and to the chair, so he could not move from it.

But she had seen him break down doors and punch through walls and ceilings. A chair wouldn't do much to stop him.

Then again (another part of her mind argued), if he _could_ do that, he hadn't taken advantage of it, even though he had had plenty of opportunities to do so. And there were guards in the room now. Two of them were standing at the door at that moment, staring at the wall with a look of boredom. The visitor's room was big enough that, if Laurie spoke in a low tone, they wouldn't hear her, admittedly one-sided, conversation with her brother.

But he was fast, fast enough that if she moved close enough, he could rip them off and snap her neck before any of them could react. They were many feet away, she realized – the distance growing in her mind.

* * *

The first anniversary of the Halloween attack, Laurie had not slept. Had not eaten. Had not showered. She had kept the radio and television on almost all hours she was awake, listening for news of a breakout. Whenever she heard a crime report, she would sit up as if hit with an electric wire, then slump again into a curled up ball as the report would inevitably describe a list of minor felonies or give the person's description. Knocking, growing more insistent as the day wore on, were ignored, as were conversations, people calling her name, pleas, and threats. When she fell asleep, it was out of sheer exhaustion, her eyes so dark as to look almost bruised.

The second anniversary would have been even worse, had Sheriff Brackett and Annie not pulled her bodily from her room and taken her to a therapist. She had sat in the office, jumping at the tiniest noise and insisting every few moments to keep the blinds closed so nobody could see inside – no, open them, so she could check outside – no, keep them closed. It was the only thing she did say; questions from her therapist were met with tight-lipped silence. Even though by then, she had known about her relationship to _him_ , the knowledge so recent it had felt like it was burning her. She was sure he would come back that night – that he might possess some psychic link to her mind that let him know that _she_ knew what they were to each other.

He hadn't, and when the third anniversary came by, Laurie was on different medication, was slowly weaning herself from her therapist, and had Jimmy. By then they were living together in their own little apartment. He let her keep the radio on but would urge her to stillness whenever she leaped up at some new crime report. He didn't force her to eat, but made her favorite meals anyway and let her pick at them, satisfied to see even a few small bites. He let her lock all the doors and windows, and would answer any callers himself. He tucked his lean body around her and whispered constantly through the night, so that she knew she wasn't alone and so the buzzing would quiet.

She was pregnant on the fourth anniversary, her hormones combining with her stress combined with having to deal with new medication to make for rampant reactions. Jimmy had anchored her again, calmly tolerating her bursts of anger, her moments of paranoia and distrust, and her dark dive into depression. He held her in their bed and stroked the curve of her belly, talking about what the baby would be like, browsing through toy catalogs together, and reading her textbooks to her to help her study.

By the fifth anniversary she had two children, and she could not stop watching John. He wasn't talking. (Jimmy said it was still too early for that.) He didn't smile like Jamie did. (Jimmy said John was just a more serious baby.) He didn't play with his toys. (Jimmy said it was because Jamie kept hogging them.) He looked like her brother. (All babies look alike.) She wanted to hold him; she wanted to put him down. She wouldn't go into the room; then she couldn't stay out of it. She wondered if her bloodline was cursed and she had doomed John to be like her brother; she wondered if her avoidance of him would do it anyway. She asked Jimmy if she was a terrible mother.

"You're a wonderful mother," he had said. "This is just a bad day."

Jimmy proposed something for the week coming up to the sixth anniversary – a call to the sanitarium. Explain who you are and why you are asking, he told her. There are psychiatrists there. They'll understand. She did. They did. They endured her calls, sometimes four or five times daily, asking if her brother was still there, in the week leading up to Halloween. The holiday was almost past when Laurie made her last call and fell into bed, tired but, for once, not exhausted.

She did that with less frequency in the seventh anniversary. The television and radio remained off. She could answer the door sometimes. She opened the blinds up as well. She thought she was going to be all right.

Jimmy died just a few months before the eighth anniversary.

It was a bad time. Grief on top of the loss of Jimmy, the loss of the one steadying force in her life, on top of having to help her children and hide her own terror.

She made it. Just barely. Delivered the kids to a babysitter and sat alone in her house. She had gone to the door to lock it and was thinking about pulling all the curtains closed and turning on the television, when she stopped, because it seemed like Jimmy was talking to her, telling her to breathe deep and to calm the sanitarium and that he was there, always there.

She left the door unlocked.

Two months after, Dr. Beckett had called asking her to visit her brother.

* * *

Laurie had been staring at the paper for five minutes, trying to make her decision. To move or not to move, that was the question.

She wished she still went to her therapist. Or still had one. Maybe Dr. Beckett would be one. He was already taking care of one Myers family member, why not another? A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to burst out of her.

What would her therapist say? Probably something affirming ("your fears are valid, Laurie, and you should not be ashamed about trying to accommodate for them") followed by something to get rid of them ("let me tell you about these new cognitive behavioral techniques that could help"). It had always annoyed her, the seemingly unnoticed contradiction in her words – your feelings are normal, now let's try and fix them.

_"_ _Exposure therapy, Laurie. You may have heard of it. It involves placing you, the patient in proximity to the feared object or situation. No, not immediately, but gradually working up to it. I'll teach you methods of calming down, of monitoring your feelings, breaking them down. We'll start with very safe situations, the safest you can be – maybe imagining the situation. Or just a photo or video of something associated with it. We'll work from there."_

Laurie was pretty sure, however, that her therapist had never intended for her to be in the same room as her actual brother.

Michael was sitting there, looking as calm and passive as someone of his size might be. Laurie took a breath, slowly putting her pencil down.

She remembered that she had been close to him before – quite close, and without any guards in the room. When she had thought to remove his mask.

He hadn't done a thing to her then.

Carefully, she pushed back the chair, its legs squeaking on the floor. Still cautious, she picked it up and moved it to the left side of the table. Then, just as slowly, she began moving her papers over.

Michael watched, giving no reaction that could tell her what he was thinking. His hands remained in his lap.

Her breathing was quickening, but not abnormally so. She sat back in the chair and picked up the pencil, looking at her papers. A dim part of her mind appreciated how much better the light was from this side.

A quiet rattle made her jerk her head up. Michael had shifted his leg slightly, making some noise. But he did nothing else. His eyes did not waver from her face. Now that she was closer, she could see a little more into them, though hair and the shadows of the mask (dark blue, almost black, with white spots where the glue had leaked out) still obscured them.

For the rest of the hour, there was silence between them. Laurie settled into the grading, quietly aware of her brother's presence but, for once, able to keep it in a distant part of her mind. On the brief occasions when she looked up, she found him still gazing at her. He made no noise, even his breathing quiet. The only movement came from the rise and fall of his chest, and she had the strange feeling that it was deliberate, he was holding himself still.

When visiting hours were over, she packed up the papers and pencil and stood, looking at her brother, wavering because something felt incomplete, unfinished. She almost wanted to say something to acknowledge whatever had occurred, but there was nothing she could think of.

In the end, she left without saying another word.

Only when driving home did she realize that it was the first time she had left without any feeling of fear.

* * *

Laurie wiped the droplets from her face, careful not to get shampoo in her eyes. "John, _please_ stop splashing, I'm trying to get Jamie's hair done."

He stopped immediately, settling for swishing the water. His hair was soaked so that it was plastered to his head, water dribbling from the strands. Next to him in the bathtub, Jamie was squirming impatiently as Laurie scrubbed bubbles through the long hair, scratching firmly to get all the dandruff out.

"Okay, close your eyes," said Laurie, and she turned on the water, dunking Jamie's head under. Within minutes, all the shampoo was out, though now the bathtub was filled with soapy, dirty water. She drained it, ignoring the twins' shrieks of dismay as the cold air hit them, then filled it up and repeated the process with John ("Jamie, now _you_ stop splashing").

"Done!" She patted John's head. "Now, hand me the soap-"

In her bedroom, the telephone rang.

Laurie bit back a swear. "Great." She tossed her hands under the sink faucet and quickly dried them, then ran to answer the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Lloyd. Is this a bad time?"

He must have heard her grumpy tone. "It's fine," she said, still failing at concealing it.

"I can call back another time-"

"No, it's fine, just – hold on-" She covered the mouthpiece and shouted into the bathroom. "Jamie! John! Wash yourself off, then get out and dry yourselves off, okay?" Back on the phone, "What is this about?" Her gut clenched. "Is he-?"

"No, Mrs. Lloyd, Michael is still in his room… though this is about him."

Laurie tugged off her glasses, rubbing at an eye. Of course it was; lately every conversation seemed to be about her brother. "What about him?"

"Your last visit went rather well, I thought. Exceptionally well, in fact." Laurie waited, a sense of uneasiness forming. In the bathroom, her children were squealing as they splashed about. "I was wondering, then, if you might consider coming more often – perhaps on bimonthly? Every two weeks or so?"

Her stomach felt like it had dropped out of her body. "What?"

"I just thought that perhaps in this way, we might encourage him to, er, stay-"

"You make it sound like it's his _choice_ to stay-" she said, anger rising.

"No-"

Rage boiled over. "-when it should be about keeping your security high enough!" she exclaimed.

"Of course not, Mrs. Lloyd, it's just that we are seeing positive results in his behavior and your relationship-"

" _Relationship?_ "

"-meaning only that, based on my observations, that your visits help him and he might want more-"

"So you're saying he _misses_ me?"

"Mrs. Lloyd, please don't shout."

Belatedly, she realized that she had been doing exactly that, and that the bathroom had gone ominously silent. Covering the handset, she poked her head out so that she could see the bathroom. Her children were staring at her, eyes rather wide.

"Guys, get washed off and then get out," she said, in as normal a tone as she could manage. "I'll be with you in a second, okay?"

She waited until she heard them yelling at each other again, then uncovered the handset. "One visit doesn't mean anything."

"But it hasn't been just one – you've gone six times in total. I think there's an improvement. Yes, a very tiny one. But it's there." He paused. "Please, Mrs. Lloyd. Just try it. It's what you've doing all this time. Just go once. If it doesn't work, it'll be back to monthly visits. But don't refuse without trying."

She sighed, pressing her hand harder against her eyes. Why did he always do that?

"All right," she mumbled. "Fine. Two weeks. I'll see him again."

"Very good. Shall I schedule you for the 15th then?" When she mumbled an agreement, he said, "All right then. We will see you on that day, Mrs. Lloyd."

At least he hadn't asked about her children, she thought, hanging up the phone with hands gone suddenly numb.

_Thirteen days left._


	7. The Seventh Visit

_The past_

_Two days out of the hospital, medication in hand and system, Laurie felt well enough to think back on Halloween without a panic attack and to ask after the others involved in the attack._

_"_ _The kids are fine," Sheriff Brackett had said, referring to Tommy and Lindsey. "No injuries. Just scared. Their parents are grateful to you. They came to the hospital to tell me."_

_And the old man who had rescued her?_

_Sheriff Brackett's lips had twisted. "Dr. Loomis. Michael Myers was his patient. He survived, just barely. He's probably gone back to his home now."_

_And now that old man had a new book out. Laurie had seen the billboards put up around the outskirts of town, the flyers hanging from bookstores. She had also seen them smeared with graffiti. Read reports of Dr. Loomis coming under attack from residents of Haddonfield._

_"_ _Why are they doing this?" she asked the sheriff._

_He had smiled with no humor. "Some people feel like he's profiting off this town's misfortunes. All those people killed – do their families benefit from this publicity? His book sales? No."_

_The sheriff had sounded so bitter she had dropped the subject. Then they heard that Lynda's father had been arrested for attempting to kill the doctor on his publicity tour. They heard he had tried to shoot Dr. Loomis, screaming that he had created the monster that murdered his beloved daughter; that he had been jailed; and that the gun wasn't loaded._

_"_ _Why do they blame him?" Laurie mumbled, curled up in her chair. "He didn't make Michael Myers. He was his doctor. He tried to help." She remembered how he had appeared at the last minute, trying to save her. How he had shot his own patient several times. How he had sacrificed himself to give her time to run._

_The look on Sheriff Brackett's face seemed to indicate that he knew this, and that for her sake, he was going to soften some of his own opinions. "They blame him for not doing enough. He didn't cure Myers, and that led to people dying. Now he has a new book out, and some people think maybe it was deliberate – he didn't help Myers because then Myers would kill a bunch of people, and he could make more money."_

_Whatever happened to Lynda's father, the incident just generated more press. Stores started putting the book, and its predecessor, in their store windows, hoping to get a cut of the profits. Laurie saw them as she walked to work and home every day. At first, she kept her face averted, not wanting to see the masked face staring out at her. Then she realized that there was a picture of a boy, a picture of an unfamiliar, pumpkin-like mask on the cover. It was still him, she knew, but not the face that she had seen. She could manage it._

_And then, one day, with a bonus from work in her pocket, she had stopped at the store, walked in, and bought copies of both Dr. Loomis's work. She didn't really have any reason. Her therapist was helping her to work past the events, and had suggested she try to expose herself to some of the things that would trigger her fear – small things, manageable things. She had tried, in the privacy of the office – envisioning the man in her mind and working on calming exercises, looking at photos and quieting the panic it would bring. A book… that might be the next step. And maybe now she would have some idea of what Michael Myers was and how to prevent herself from being attacked – and all from the nice old man who had rescued her._

_She flipped through the first book as she walked home, staring at the photos – a pretty but tired looking blonde woman, described as Myers's mother; a teenager with dark hair and slanted eyes who could have come from her school, labeled as Judith Myers; and a young boy with long hair and flat eyes. Arriving back at the Brackett's house, she had tossed them on the living room coffee table and gone up to take a shower, intending to read the books after._

_When she came down, hair damp, Sheriff Brackett was sitting on the sofa, books in his lap, looking very old._

_"_ _Laurie," he said. "We need to talk."_

* * *

_The present_

Two weeks was too early.

Ever since she had scheduled the visit, she had been living with a pit of dread in her gut. Thirteen days (then twelve, then eleven…) had been so little, so _short_ , compared to twenty-nine (then twenty-eight which was still many weeks away, twenty-seven was still plenty, twenty-six…). She had clutched onto each day, waking as early as she could, staying up as late as possible, trying to drag out each hour before she had to come back, but time had run out like water between her fingers, and now she was back.

And she had been stupid. It had been stupid. She had spent the last two weeks almost a zombie, stress building up in her, not getting enough sleep, waking to nightmares or spending hours imagining horrible scenarios in her head. School was ending – she had a mountain of papers and final projects to grade, and her students were running wild, seeing summer vacation nearing. Her own children had been the same, and she had snapped more at them in the last few weeks than she had all year.

So when she woke up the day of the visit, it had been to a ringing alarm clock informing her that she was late.

She had been stupid. She had to rush the twins through their morning routine, then raced to drop them off at school. She had to call the office and apologize and say that she had overslept and was going to be late and could they get someone to watch the class for the first half hour – the office receptionist had not been happy. And in the chaos she had forgotten to take her medication, had thought "Screw it" and dumped the bottles in her purse, intending to take it during her prep period or while the kids were working.

But the class had gone a little wild and she had to spend the day herding them to do their assignments. Then she got called in to watch over another class during her break period – the receptionist's revenge for being late, she thought. And she had to prepare for her last two classes during lunch and barely had time to eat. And now she was sitting here, nerves on fire, looking at an insurmountable pile of papers that needed to be graded by the end of the week, clutching her pencil so hard it might shatter. A pounding migraine was developing in her right temple, and there was a prickle going all over her.

And her brother was there, sitting silently and watching her with still, shadowed eyes. She hadn't said a word to him the entire visit, just slapped down her work, dragged her chair over, and tried to drown out the buzzing in her head with essays.

It wasn't working.

She shut her eyes a moment, wanting nothing more than to rest her head against her arms. The small type face and the inevitable grammar mistakes was only making her headache worse – it felt like there was a throbbing weight against her eyelids. She was distantly aware that her left hand was trembling, while her right had such a death grip on her pencil that it was going numb. The prickling under her skin was turning into a tingling, almost feverish in its heat and intensity.

 _Breathe,_ she thought. Her brother, the visit, the papers, she tried to put aside, focus on breathing. _Breathe. Calm down. Think._

When she opened her eyes, there was a woman standing in the corner of the room.

Laurie swallowed back a gasp.

_Oh God, no, not again…_

The woman stared directly at her. She was very pale, and almost fuzzy around the edges – a ghost, wavering in and out of existence. Laurie did not have to look behind her to know that the guards did not see her. They would never see her. Not even Michael could see her; he was still looking right at her, totally unaware of anything else in the room.

 _Not this, please, not now…_ Laurie squeezed her eyes tight again. _Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Count to ten with each one._ She sucked in wavering breaths, hand shaking from the effort to keep herself still.

She opened her eyes.

Deborah Myers remained where she was, staring implacably at her.

Laurie's entire body was beginning to shake. _No,_ she told herself. It's not real. Calm down. Sometimes it takes a while to go away. She fumbled around in her pocket for her pills, then swore internally – she had left it in her purse, which had been taken away from her.

No! She could make it go away. It wasn't happening. It wasn't real.

She counted to twenty, and when she opened her eyes for the third time, the woman was still there, her gaze almost challenging.

_I won't go away._

Laurie pressed a fist to her mouth, stifling a scream, as she curled back against her chair. And that caused another reaction: out of her peripheral vision, she saw Michael turn his head from where he was sitting, following her gaze to stare at the corner. Her hands curled around the pencil, preparing to stab at the vision, just to make it go away, _go away_ -!

Wait –

Michael was _looking_ at it.

She thought at first that he was just tracing her line of sight, but – _no._ He was looking right at the exact corner – his head was even tilted up to look exactly at Deborah Myers's face –

His mother's face. _Their_ mother.

Laurie knew what had happened. She had finally, totally, gone insane. Her mind had snapped under the stress and now she was sharing the same hallucinations as her equally insane brother – and soon they would be hauling her away, never to see her children, putting her under drugs and restraints and just waiting for her to get loose and start murdering nurses –

_Yes._

The word reverberated in her head, isolate and foreign – not her thought. Another's voice. Deborah Myers seemed to shimmer, wavering out of focus, only to dart forward, several feet closer. Her mouth was moving, and even though there was no sound, Laurie could almost hear the tone, her hand rising to beckon both of her children forward –

_Yes…_

No! No, she didn't want to, she didn't want it, but her mother was coming inexorably closer as Laurie shrank back, her legs gone numb, unable to escape – and the buzzing in her head was rising to a shriek, pulsing out all other impulses and thoughts and rationality, and Laurie knew, from the last sane part of her mind still trying to take control, that she was twisting her hand around the pencil to bring it up –

Without warning, Michael stood.

She could not see anything at that point except the figure of her mother bearing down at her – but she could hear. And she heard Michael stand, the restraints on his legs rattling. And she heard the creak as he shoved back his chair. And most of all, she heard the shuffle of his steps as he got up and walked right. Next. To her.

Deborah Myers stopped, and the whine in Laurie's head dimmed for one moment.

The two figures stood in front of her like a tableau only Laurie was audience to – her mother in front of the table, her brother next to her. He towered over them both; she had forgotten about the sheer size of him, even more noticeable with her sitting scrunched into her chair.

He was staring at his mother. And if Laurie had still harbored the delusion that he could not see her, that he had just been looking where Laurie was looking – she forgot it now. Because the hallucination, or ghost, had moved, yet he was still staring right at it.

And Deborah was staring right back.

She didn't know what was happening. All she could see her viewpoint was her mother's expression; her brother was too tall, his face turned away from her and anyway, hidden behind a mask. But she did see Deborah's face change. She looked surprised.

Could hallucinations look surprised? Could ghosts?

Whatever Deborah Myers was, her confusion lasted only a moment. Her face shifted – not in any way human, but like her entire head had simply gone soft, like clay, melting and reforming into sudden, terrifying wrath that made Laurie curl all her limbs into a ball –

Michael moved.

It was a tiny thing, but Laurie, sitting so close to him, saw it anyway. He shifted his stance just a few inches – a few inches closer to Laurie. His hand, the one closest to her, jerked, moving towards her.

And Deborah Myers stopped. She stopped, and just looked at her son.

Laurie didn't even dare to breathe. The buzzing in her head had gone utterly silent.

Michael looked right back at her.

Deborah's form flickered again, her face gone blank. The edges of her were growing hazier. Laurie thought she might have stepped back, just a bit – but then she blinked, and when she looked again, Deborah Myers was gone.

Her head was quiet.

For several moments, she sat frozen in the same position, barely daring to breathe. She kept waiting for Deborah to reappear, to hear her gently coaxing tone urging Laurie to grab the pencil, but nothing happened, except that she kept sitting there, breathing sharply, and Michael kept standing next to her, staring at the same spot as her.

Then he moved again.

She saw him shift again out of the corner of her eye, and turn his head. At first, not looking at him closely (she was still waiting for Deborah Myers to reappear), she thought he had resumed looking at her again. But then he turned fully to look down at her, and she jerked her head up, and saw that he was not staring at her at all, but at the pencil she was still holding.

Laurie looked and swallowed through a suddenly dry throat. Her hand was still curled around it – not like she was writing with it, but like it was the handle of a knife.

Michael kept staring at it. Confused, Laurie looked at him, then back down at it, not sure what to do. Finally, she dropped it. It clattered quietly along the tabletop as she stretched out her stiff fingers.

When she looked up again, Michael was looking at her, just as steadily as he had all the other visits.

Was that the only thing he had wanted her to do?

Her head felt fuzzy, but not with the buzzing that had nearly overcome her. It was more similar to the light-headed wobbliness she felt after a long day of work, the kind that left her barely functioning and just about ready to collapse into bed. But penetrating it was a sense of confusion.

What had happened?

"Hey! Hey!"

Laurie jumped, startled out of her numbness. Michael, as was to be expected, did not react at all. One of the guards was striding over, his baton out.

"Myers! Get away from her, right now!" Behind him, the other guard was standing at the ready, mumbling something into his walkie-talkie. To Laurie, the first guard said, "Miss, don't move, let me handle this."

She couldn't have moved even if she wanted to. She watched the guard approach Michael with detached fascination. Her brother was giving the guard all the attention he might give to an ant – that is, none at all. His gaze was focused only on her.

"Last warning, Myers," the guard said, one hand going for the cuffs on his belt, and Laurie had to admire his persistence. "Get back in your seat, or we'll be telling the doctor and ending this visit-"

Laurie started out of her seat. "No, no." She uncurled herself from the seat and stood, hoping that her legs wouldn't give way. "It's okay, he's not doing anything."

The guard looked decidedly unconvinced; Laurie had, after all, been sitting hunched in her seat for several moments right around the time Michael had stood, so of course their only conclusion was that he was the cause. "Miss, please, back away and we'll take care of him-" He raised his baton threateningly.

"No," Laurie said more firmly. Some inner sense was telling her to get them away – maybe the minute observations of Michael's body: a twitch of his hand, the stiffening of his shoulders. "It was nothing. I'm fine, really. He can stay here."

The guard looked as if this was the last thing he wanted to do, but Laurie just glared at him. She felt bad – he was only doing his job, and at any other time she would have been grateful for their intervention – but she was too bone-tired, too filled with the after-buzz of terror and adrenaline, to really care. With a distinctly disgruntled expression, he backed away.

"We'll be watching, Myers," he said as a final warning. "No funny business."

Michael did not even look at the guard as he stalked off. Only when they were a sufficient distance away did Laurie sit down. Her brother remained standing, still regarding her.

She wished, suddenly and more strongly than ever before, that she could see his face. Maybe it would give insight into what he was thinking. And maybe, it would tell her what he had done.

* * *

When she left the room at the end of the visiting hours, she was still thinking about what had happened. She answered Dr. Beckett's questions in a daze, not really thinking about her answers (no, she did not know what happened, no she wasn't hurt, yes, he just stood up and went next to her, no idea what had happened, yes, two weeks, see you then). There was no mention of seeing Deborah Myers – if there was anything most likely to get her committed, that would be it. As soon as she had her purse, she rushed to the bathroom and downed several pills, even though her mind was remarkably clear, and had been the rest of the visit.

The drive home was a blur of fields and brown, rounded plains, and she almost missed the sign welcoming her back to Haddonfield. At home, she watched her children play in the backyard; with summer approaching, even the evenings were still bright and warm, and she could sit on her lawn chair with them, mulling over the events.

What had happened?

She could put together a rough series of events. One: under intense stress, she had forgotten to take her medication. Two: because of that, she had hallucinated her mother, probably because she had been reading Dr. Loomis's books pretty intensely in the last few months. Three: she almost had a breakdown during the visit because of said hallucination. Four: Michael saw the hallucination as well. Even though that should be impossible. No, he had just been following her line of sight. Maybe. Five: Michael had gotten up and stood next to her. Why? Because he saw the hallucination – no. Because he wanted to, for some unfathomable reason she was not privy to. Six: the hallucination had disappeared.

Jamie slipped in the long grass, squealing as John threw himself atop her, shouting that now she was "it". Laurie watched but did not quite see them, head still far away.

So the questions were: Did Michael see the hallucination? If so, then how? And if not, why had he acted the way he did? And why did the hallucination disappear?

There was the scientific explanation. No, he did not see it; he just looked at what she was looking at. He had stood near her because he was crazy and who knew why crazy people did what they did? And the hallucination disappeared because that happened – they came and went because of weird disturbances in her brain chemistry or something.

Plausible, maybe. But it did not match up with her intuition, that something _else_ had been going on – that most of all, Michael _had_ seen it. If so, how?

The first explanation was obvious. Her brother was insane, and so was she, and in their matched nuttiness, they had hallucinated the same thing.

Only she had never heard of such a thing happening. Which was why (she tried to convince herself) that he was just curious what _she_ had been staring at and had looked in the same direction.

Except that the hallucination had _moved_ , and he had tracked that movement, and he had even known where the… thing's… face was. Laurie resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands and moved onto the next question: what had happened to make it disappear?

Somehow (and screw the scientific explanation), she knew that it was connected with Michael standing up. He had never done that before in all their visits. And when the hallucination had drifted closer, he had moved towards her as well – so close, he had almost been standing in front of her.

Forgetting about her children for a moment, Laurie closed her eyes. She tried to visualize the scene exactly as she remembered it. She had sitting in her chair, legs and arms drawn around herself, the table before her. At the other end, the shimmering form of Deborah Myers. At her side, Michael, standing very close.

At her side…

And she remembered how he had inched even closer to her as their mother approached. How one hand had twitched so that it was almost in front of her.

Like he was guarding her. Shielding her.

The thought made her shiver.

And that had pissed off the hallucination, or ghost, or whatever the hell it was. Mother and son had stared each other down for several moments – or seconds – or hours. She could not be sure just how much time had passed. Then, the form of Deborah Myers had disappeared.

It made no sense, Laurie thought, opening her eyes. Maybe it was some kind of ghost, or demon, of Deborah Myers, come to beckon her youngest child into crazy-land. But then, why would Michael act the way he did? Even Dr. Loomis had thought that Michael was close to his mother, or as close as someone like him could be. But… and Laurie felt surer of it the more she thought about it… her brother had actually defied that ghost. He had stood over her and made it go away because… why?

Because it was causing her distress…

Because he didn't want her to go mad…

And maybe because she was still his baby sister and despite everything that had happened, he still wanted to protect her.

The thought settled into her with a certain finality. On some gut level, she knew it was correct.

When she opened her eyes, John was standing in front of her.

She started, laughing. "John! You snuck up on me, huh?"

He grinned. "Mommy, you were sleeping."

"Was not," she retorted, but smiled. "Just thinking." She brushed the hair from his eyes, regarding him. There was little of her family in him, she thought. His eyes, his hair, his face – it was all Jimmy. Same with Jamie.

"Hey," she said softly. "Stay in the yard, okay? I'm going to make a call."

Inside, she dialed the number for Smith's Grove Sanitarium and waited for Dr. Beckett to pick up.

"Hello Dr. Beckett. It's Mrs. Lloyd. Yes… yes, fine. I'm just calling to say… for the next visit…" _A reward, positive reinforcement…_ "…I think I'm going to bring my children."


	8. The Eighth Visit

Laurie smoothed down John's hair as she waited for the receptionist to finish the call. On her other side, Jamie was fidgeting, the dress she used for formal occasions itching her. Laurie reached over and adjusted the collar into a more comfortable position.

The receptionist nodded, murmuring words of thanks before putting down the phone. "Dr. Beckett has approved your coloring books and crayons," she informed Laurie, handing them over. "For the purposes of this visit, he has also authorized that Mr. Myers be placed back in full restraints."

She nodded as she tucked the books and box of crayons under her arm, squeezing her children's hands. It reassured her more than she wanted to admit; telling the doctor her children would be coming to see their uncle was far different from being in the actual scenario. A nurse had appeared and was slowly explaining all the rules of the visit: no touching, complete supervision, no loud noises, limited movement, and so on. Laurie doubted her children would remember any of that. As the nurse finished, an aide buzzed open the door and beckoned them in. Laurie grabbed hold of her twins' hands and led them through.

The white hallways were familiar to her by now, but Jamie and John, who had rarely gone to the hospital to begin with, were fascinated, craning their heads to try and look through the doors or whispering questions to each other. What was that funny smell? Why did the windows look like that? Who was that person walking by? Their mother ignored them, intent on following the aide and wondering just what Michael's reaction to knowing he had a niece and nephew would be. She had never mentioned them to him before, for reasons of safety. Knowing the little that she did about his brother's mind, he wondered if he even knew or cared about any relationships she had outside of, well, him. That he might be potentially possessive of her was a niggling worry that had begun ever since calling Dr. Beckett two weeks ago. After all, Michael had certainly been intent on killing all her close friends and family. And while the doctor had thought that his relationship (whatever it was) might extend to her children, she wondered if the information would shock him out of thinking of her as his little baby sister, and into… something else.

The aide stopped, his keys jingling as he pulled them from his belt and unlocked the door. As it creaked open, he said, "In you go, ma'am. We've got a one-way glass here to watch you and he's in full restraints. Shouldn't be a problem, hopefully."

Laurie nodded her thanks, then stepped inside, Jamie and John trailing after her. Unlike her, their attention focused first on the room – the small space, the bolted down furniture (again), and the lack of windows.

Then they saw him. Laurie heard Jamie give a little squeak and felt both of their hands clutch hers tightly.

Her heart was in her throat as she saw Michael look at her, then glance down at them. His shoulders (once again restrained behind his back) twitched, perhaps his only indication of surprise.

"Michael," she murmured, "these are… my children, Jamie and John."

* * *

Laurie had spent the first week after her call figuring out how to tell her children about their new, previously unknown family relation, and the second week working herself up to actually doing it.

She knew her children still missed their father, though being so young had helped them to recover better, if only because their memories of him faded quicker than it would if they were older. But they were not completely unaffected, and would tell her about little things that made them stand out: how other kids' daddies would come to the parent conferences, or drive up to the school to pick them up, or how the teacher had to come up with something special for them to do for father's day, or how their pictures only had a mommy while everyone else would draw a mommy and a daddy. She knew that for a time, he had been the only adult male figure in their life – they had no grandparents (Jimmy's parents had died while he was in high school) and no other nearby relatives.

She was afraid that they would think of Michael as a new father, a Jimmy-replacement.

Two days before the visit date, when the small family was finished with dinner, she told them.

"What's a mental insta-insi-insti-"

" _Institution_ ," Laurie enunciated for her son. "It's like a hospital, except it's for people who have illnesses in their brains."

Jamie wrinkled her nose. "Why are we going?"

"We're going to visit someone there."

John's eyes lit up. "Oh. Like you've been doing?"

She nodded, not surprised they had figured it out. "The person is a relative. He's been in there a long time."

"How long?"

"Over twenty years."

She saw their eyes widen – twenty years was practically an eternity for them.

"Is he sick?"

"Um, yes." It was one way of putting it.

Jamie wrinkled her nose. "Does he get medicine?"

"Uh… probably." Laurie really had no idea - was there medication for being a psychopath?

Her daughter's eyes widened. "And shots?" Of course, that would be the thing they would associate with hospitals.

"Maybe," Laurie hedged.

"How come he's been there so long? Doesn't he want to get better?" John piped up.

Laurie chewed on her lip. "Sometimes people don't get better when they're sick. Sometimes they just have to stay there so they, um, don't get others sick."

"Like Rachel's grandma," Jamie said, with an air of great wisdom. "She got sick very bad and went to the hospital and never came out."

Rachel's grandmother had died of cancer, but Laurie did not want to debate the point. "Yes, like that."

John was frowning. "Who're we visiting?"

"His name is Michael. He's my brother."

That made Jamie sit up. "Brother? Like me and John?"

"Yes, though we're not twins."

Jamie asked, "Does that mean he's our new daddy?"

Laurie almost choked. " _No._ "

"So then, he's our… our…" Both their faces had screwed up.

"Your uncle."

That made the two giggle, to Laurie's confusion. "Rachel has an uncle," Jamie informed her through little snorts.

"He's _ugly_."

"And smelly."

"And mean."

"Is our uncle ugly?"

"And smelly?"

"And mean?"

It was a few too many adjectives thrown at her, and she ended the conversation with, "You'll just have to see when we go."

* * *

And now here they were. At the distance they were, Michael did not look that big, but something about his presence held their attention.

That, and he had a mask on.

"Come on," whispered Laurie to her two petrified children. "Let's go sit."

Whoever had chosen their room had definitely put some thought into accommodating for more people. Apart from the chair her brother was sitting on, there was another at the opposite end from him, and two along each side of the table. Laurie took one closest to Michael, on his right, and placed her children in some of the further seats – Jamie in the chair opposite her uncle and John on her left, thinking dimly that if Michael did anything, then he would at least have to get through Laurie first. Unfortunately, whoever had chosen the room had not thought as far as her children's age, and the two were almost dwarfed by their chairs. Jamie clambered onto her knees to gain more height, John following suit.

A heavy silence fell over them.

Normally, Laurie would fill up time by talking to Michael, or when that ran out, working on grading. But school had been over for a month now, and the kind of things she normally said to Michael could not be spoken in front of her children.

Michael, at least, after his initial surprise (she thought), had not reacted. Now he was aiming his gaze at each of them, focusing on one member for a few minutes, then slowly turning to regard the next.

"So…" Laurie attempted. Her voice sounded unnaturally high. "This is Jamie and John. They're twins-"

"We're five," Jamie interrupted, looking rather proud; their birthday had been a few weeks ago, so it was on their minds. John stayed silent; Michael was staring at him and he looked rather discomfited.

"Their father died a year – almost two years ago," Laurie went on. She swallowed past a lump in her throat. "I thought, um… you might like to see them."

It was a stupid thing to say, she thought. He hadn't even known they existed until now.

Jamie suddenly spoke. "I like your mask." Michael's glance switched from John to hers with slightly terrifying rapidity. It made the little girl flinch, but she held his gaze with admirable composure. "Did you make it?"

For a moment, Laurie was sure Michael was just going to continue staring then her. Then she saw him incline his head just an inch. Jamie noticed as well, and said, as if it was a normal conversation, "It looks nice." Then, "Can I touch it?"

"Jamie-" said Laurie in consternation, "The nurse said not to-"

But her daughter had already hopped off her chair and walked over. As she neared Michael, her eyes widened, whether because she had realized just how big he was, or because she had seen his manacles. But she didn't say a word, just walked over to Michael's side and reached out with one hand.

Michael looked at her one long moment, during which Laurie was hoping that he would do nothing – maybe some safe middle ground in which he refused to let her touch but did not take too much offense. But then he leaned his body over, as far as his cuffs would allow, until his head was within reach of Jamie's hand, though she had to get up on her toes to bridge the gap between them.

She stroked the ridges with immense concentration. "It feels funny," she declared. Still touching it, she looked over her shoulder at her twin. "John, come touch it."

And Laurie could only watch as her son, who had been viewing the scene with a watchful, waiting expression, dropped off his chair and joined his sister, his brow creased. He was more cautious than his sister, his eyes flicking over his uncle's form for a moment before making his move. When he did, he tapped, rather than touched, the mask, a little furrow of concern on his face that reminded Laurie greatly of his father. "It's hard."

"What's it made of?" asked Jamie – apparently addressing Michael.

Laurie answered for him. "Probably newspaper and glue. You've used it. Remember when Mrs. Chambers had you make that globe?"

"Oh yeah."

"Did you paint it?" asked John, removing his hand and examining the blue and black globs with his own, unconscious imitation of his uncle's head tilt.

"Yes, probably."

The two touched the mask a little while longer before losing interest and returning to their seats.

Jamie pushed herself further up on the table, practically standing in her seat. "Do you talk?"

Laurie tensed. "No, Jamie, he doesn't."

"Oh." Laurie waited for a "Why not?", but it did not come. Instead, she asked, "Do you like coloring?"

But it was John who answered. " _No_ ," he hissed at his twin, "he likes to make _masks_ , duh."

"He has to _color_ the masks," Jamie retorted, and Laurie wasn't sure whether to be amused or scared that her children had become so used to their uncle's silence, to speaking for him. "So I thought he might like coloring – DUH."

"Speaking of coloring," Laurie interrupted, "how about you work on that, huh?"

Without waiting for a response, she handed out their coloring books and crayons and watched for a moment as the two squabbled over their favorite colors. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her brother doing the same, head dipping slightly as if in curiosity.

"I'm going to do the house," announced John to the room at large, grabbing a green crayon and scrawling over the grass.

"That's _boring_ ," Jamie declared. "I'm doing the one of outer space."

"Fine, then _I'm_ doing the cat and mouse one."

"You can't do that one before me!"

Laurie let their chatter fill the room, glad for something to break the silence. After a moment, she spoke.

"They both like coloring, and playing in the yard, and playing imaginary games with their toys," she said in an undertone. Though Michael did not take his eyes off the twins, she saw his head incline towards her slightly. "John likes books. He's barely learning to read, but he likes to look at the pictures and make up the stories. Jamie loves animals. She wants a dog – she loves her babysitter's dog, Sundae – but we don't really have the time, or space, or money, for one."

She paused in her ramble. Neither of the children had heard, or if they had, gave no reaction. Jamie was coloring in a scene of an astronaut with furious concentration, turning the entire land blue. (Probably inaccurately, as Laurie thought it looked like the surface of Mars.) John had chosen the more ordinary picture of a cat chasing after a mouse in a field, and was carefully highlighting each of the cat's stripes. Both of them completely ignored their infamous uncle.

And Michael? He just watched them, as always very still, very quiet. But Laurie thought she detected a faint fascination in his gaze, the way he leaned forward just slightly to see what they were doing. Whatever he was thinking, he seemed to have accepted them into the little circle of him and Laurie.

When it was time to go, the twins shoved their crayons haphazardly into the box and leaped off the chair. "Are we going to come back tomorrow?" demanded Jamie.

"No, they don't have the institution open then," explained Laurie. "But I'm coming back in two weeks." She met Michael's gaze for a second. "You can come then."

Jamie made a little mewl of protest. "It's so long!"

Laurie shook her head – did her daughter _want_ to come back? John at least seemed sensible, accepting the date with little complaint. But at the door (Jamie still whining about the long gap between visits), he turned around and said, "Bye, Uncle."

Jamie whirled around too. "Bye Uncle!" And she even waved.

Laurie glanced at Michael again, but didn't say anything, and it was too far to discern any expression. She could not tell if the familial term was endearing or disturbing, or how to feel about her children accepting him so easily. Then the guard was opening the door, and they were out.

* * *

In the car, though, they erupted with questions.

"Mommy, how come Uncle doesn't talk?"

"How come he was all tied up?"

"Why was he wearing a bathrobe?"

"Why does he wear a mask?"

"One at a time!" Laurie exclaimed, almost driving into the wrong lane. "John, you start."

"How come he was all tied up?"

Laurie had to think about how to answer it. _Well, John, a long time ago, Uncle murdered five people and then broke out and killed another dozen._ Or, _your uncle is a psychopathic serial killer who might escape again._ Or even, _he tried to kill me and everyone's afraid he'll do it again and then come after you as well._

But she just said, "He's done some bad things, John, and they don't want him to hurt us."

"But he _didn't_ hurt us."

"I know, but we didn't know that. Next time, they'll probably take it off."

Jamie shoved John out of the way. "My turn! Mommy, why was he wearing a bathrobe? And a mask? And how come he doesn't talk?"

"That's three questions!" shouted John. "And one of them was _mine_!"

" _Stop,_ " Laurie ordered. To Jamie, "He just wears what the mental institution gives him."

"They gave him a mask?"

"No, he made those. He… likes masks." She ran her memory for the last question. "And he doesn't talk because… I guess he doesn't want to."

"Oh." For a moment, there was peaceful silence. Then Jamie piped up again. "When are we coming back?"

"Why do you want to come back, Jamie?" Laurie asked, merging into another lane. "Weren't you bored?"

"A little," she shrugged. "But I think Uncle misses us."

She frowned at her daughter in the rearview mirror. "How do you know that?"

Jamie shrugged. "I can tell."

Laurie looked at John. "What about you, John?"

"I think he misses us too," John echoed, which was not quite the answer Laurie wanted. She examined for a second, but he did not seem unduly disturbed, only showing his normal silence in the face of his twin sister's more talkative exuberance.

"Well, we'll be back in two weeks."

"How about tomorrow?" asked Jamie.

"No."

"The day after tomorrow?"

" _No._ "

"The day after the day after tomorrow?"

"No!"

"The day after the day after the day after the-"

"Jamie, I'm trying to drive!"


	9. The Ninth Visit

_The past_

_Laurie was sitting on the sofa, waiting expectantly, but all Sheriff Brackett did was look at her, his face appearing more lined and worn than she had ever seen it. A tense moment of silence followed before Laurie rolled her eyes and said, "Okay, didn't you want to tell me something?"_

_He nodded, a slow sigh escaping him. "Believe me, Laurie, it's not something I ever thought, or wanted, to tell you. But this son of a bitch-" he bit out the curse through clenched jaw, "-decided to publish this, with no respect for decency or privacy." He slapped the book on his thigh, gripping it so hard the cover bent. "And…" he shook his head, "the rest of town will know soon."_

_She was beginning to feel more and more uneasy. "Know what?"_

_Sheriff Brackett rubbed his face, jaw working. Then he launched into his story, speaking faster than Laurie had ever heard him. "I was a new cop on the force, nineteen years ago, when the call came in. According to the caller, she had found her boyfriend in the living room, throat slit. We came in, and…" He swallowed. "It was like nothing any of us had ever seen. We later found the woman's daughter, and her boyfriend. And there had been a kid – still in elementary school – who had gone missing for a few hours. They found him in the nearby woods. And the only one connected to all of this was this ten-year-old boy."_

_He looked up at Laurie. "You know who I'm talking about."_

_Laurie's hands were shaking, the blood pounding in her head. She squeezed her fists tight, willing herself to keep control. "Michael Myers."_

_"_ _Yes." There was another long silence, longer than the first, which Laurie did not dare to interrupt. It looked like the sheriff was working himself up for the next part._

_"_ _About seventeen years ago," he finally said, "two years after all that… that mess… I get another call. I was higher up by that time… first on the scene. It was for the Myers woman's suicide. So I go there, I find this bloody scene at the house, call the ambulance over… and then I find this adorable baby girl in the other room, sitting in this mess, and I know that she has… nothing to do with this, none of whatever the hell was wrong with her brother. But she would grow up with that stigma, that shame, of the Myers name, where everyone in town would know who she was, and I couldn't imagine that happening to this little girl. So I scoop her up, omit her from the report, and drop her off in a hospital in another town. No name, no information, just a little girl found abandoned somewhere, and I think that she'll be taken in there, with no knowledge from any parties present, and just get to… grow up and live her life. And then…" He could not meet Laurie's eyes. "Then three months later, I'm talking to a friend in Haddonfield, and he tells me that he and his wife have adopted that baby._

_"_ _The couple was Mason and Cynthia Strode."_

_A short silence followed._

_Laurie shook her head. "You mean – my parents? Adopted…"_

_"_ _Michael Myers's younger sister." Sheriff Brackett nodded, watching her intently._

_For one moment she was confused – she did not remember her parents adopting anybody – she was an only child, after all._

_An only child…_

_Oh God…_

_"_ _No," she whispered. "No, you don't mean-"_

_The sheriff nodded wearily, unable to meet her eyes now. "Yeah. Laurie… you're – you're Michael Myers's sister."_

_Her lips had gone numb. Images were sliding through her head – the boy on the cover of the book – the masked face looking out from a billboard – a black shape rising out of the darkness – sobbing at the bottom of a pool – and tiny puzzling pieces of information were coming together – why there were no baby pictures of her (_ oh, we were just so happy to have you that we didn't even think about taking photos _) – why they never knew when she first talked, when she first walked (_ why, the normal time Laurie, same as any other baby, around seven months… _) –_

 _"_ _You told me-" she murmured, "-you told me – you didn't know – why –_ why _he came after me-"_

_"_ _Why would I tell you that?" he said, almost plaintively. "In the hospital, barely recovering, unable to even hear his name without – why would I tell you? I thought – it would all just blow over-"_

_"_ _Blow over?" She was aware of her voice rising. "I'm_ Michael Myers's sister _."_

 _"_ _But you are not_ him _-"_

 _"_ _He came after me because-" she almost choked on the words, "-because we're_ related _-"_

_"_ _Laurie-"_

_And oh God – "He killed them because of me." Her hands were raking through her hair. "He killed Lynda because of me, he was coming after me, he attacked Annie,_ he killed my parents because of me _-"_

_"_ _Christ, Laurie, of course not-"_

_"_ Don't call me Laurie _!" She was out of her seat, shrieking. "Is that even my name?_ What the hell is my name _?!"_

_Sheriff Brackett had seen robbers, burglars, murderers, and the mutilated body of his own daughter, but it was this that seemed to frighten him. "Angel. Angel Myers."_

_She gave a laugh that was almost a scream; her fingers were twisting against her cheeks. "So that's it? That's it, that's my life, my twisted_ fucked-up _life-"_

_"_ _Laurie-"_

_"_ _And you didn't tell me! You didn't – fucking – tell me!"_

_"_ _Because-"_

_"_ _Because what?! Were you afraid I would turn out_ like him _?"_

_"_ _That's not it at all-"_

_"_ _Who the fuck else knows? Lynda? Annie? My parents?! Did they know?!"_

_"_ _No, they did not," said the sheriff, voice rising now. "As far as they knew, you were just their little girl, their own daughter-"_

_"_ But I'm not, I'm not their fucking daughter, I'm the fucked up younger sister of a fucking lunatic _-"_

_"_ _Laurie-"_

_She was running. Her legs were carrying her out of the room by their own volition. She didn't even grab a coat; all she knew was that she had to get out, get out of Sheriff Brackett's house with his kind, wary eyes – she was out the door, crashing into Annie, who shouted after her – then into her car and driving into the road, tears blinding her._

I'm Michael Myers's sister.

* * *

_The present_

The two weeks passed both faster and slower than she expected. Faster, because she was still not used to how much less time it was between visits; because she still felt tendrils of nervousness thinking about it. Slower, though, because despite her children's short attention span, they did not forget their upcoming visit and spent much of their free time bugging her about it.

Laurie wasn't sure how she felt about their own ease around their mysterious, murderous uncle. She wasn't sure how she felt about her _own_ growing comfort: that she was actually getting used to these visits, used to sitting in a bare room holding a one-sided conversation with a giant mute killer, used to working while he watched her. Sometimes, in her room planning out next year's lessons, she almost found herself missing it…

Which was sick, she told herself, escorting the children through the sets of doors; disgusting and horrible of her, to get used to it. The two of them had wriggled out of her hands and were dashing around her, trying to take a peep at the passwords the guard was using on the door or jumping around to try and look out the window. A low scolding made them stop for all of a minute, before they were at it again. Laurie sighed and gave up. At least the guard seemed to like it; she had caught a half-hidden smile of amusement on his expression at one point.

"Mrs. Lloyd?"

She looked up. Dr. Beckett was striding towards them. He waved the guard away and smiled at her, then at the twins.

"These are your children?"

She nodded. "Jamie and John."

"Hello." The doctor held out his hand, and after a second, the twins shook it, one after the other. "I'm Dr. Beckett. I take care of your uncle here."

Jamie and John exchanged a glance. "You don't look like a doctor," said Jamie.

"Jamie-" Laurie scolded.

But Dr. Beckett just chuckled. "I am a different kind of doctor." And it was true that at the moment, he did not look like the kind of medical doctors the twins were used to. He had shed himself of his white coat and was wearing only a light sweater and slacks.

John cocked his head to one side. "Do you still give people shots?"

The doctor smiled. "Sometimes."

"See? He's a doctor," John declared to Jamie.

Laurie interrupted. "Did you want anything, Dr. Beckett?"

"Ah yes. I'll be leading you to the visiting area, so if you'll just follow me…"

She thought the entire thing a bit off – Dr. Beckett had almost never come out to meet her, let alone take her to visitor rooms – but she had little choice but to follow him. Her disquiet only grew when he led her down some unfamiliar hallways, into what seemed to be a less secure part of the hospital. After several moments of doing this with no explanation, Laurie finally spoke up.

"This doesn't seem like the usual place."

"It isn't." Dr. Beckett continued walking ahead of them, so that she could not see his expression. "I decided it might be time for a change."

He stopped and beckoned her to a window. Like the others, it was blocked over with a metal grille, but the holes were wide enough that she could see through it. They were looking into a small grassy yard, though one surrounded by stone walls several dozen feet high. A few benches and chairs were scattered around the area, as well as some playground equipment, mainly poles and bars. One area had a cover to provide some shade for those sitting underneath it. Squinting, Laurie saw a dark grey shape sitting there.

She backed away from the glass.

"You let him _out_?"

"Yes. I'm sorry for the bit of deception, but I thought it would help," said Dr. Beckett, not looking apologetic at all. "There have been no incidents during the visits-"

"So it's a _reward_?" said Laurie sarcastically.

"-and it might provide something interesting for the children if they get bored."

Laurie doubted that had ever been his intention, but Jamie, poking her head up to look, had already spotted the equipment and was whispering excitedly to John. She sighed. "Will there be guards?"

"Of course."

"Restraints?"

"None."

It was funny how unsurprised and just not frightened she was. She really had become used to this. She glanced at Jamie and John, who seemed if anything, eager to go out. For some reason, it reassured her. "All right. All right. Let's head out, then."

* * *

It had been while driving that she had felt her throat close up.

She wasn't thinking clearly after fleeing the house, had not thought about where to go or who to talk to. All she knew was she could not stay with the sheriff, could not face Annie with her scars _(you did it, you did it, he went after her because of you)_ , and had to do something, to move, to act.

But there was nowhere to go. She could not escape her own body.

The thought that she shared the same blood, the same genes, as the psycho that had come after her – that they had the same mother, the same sister, had lived and breathed in the same house – had sent hot prickles up her spine. The tires of her car screeched as she turned too sharply, skidding along the road. She wanted to rip herself out of her skin, tear out their resemblances, blot out the name Sheriff Brackett had given her – she was not _Laurie Strode_ but _Angel Myers_ –

And in that second, she felt her lungs stop working.

The car came to a halt and she stumbled out onto the empty street. Evening was falling, and most of the stores had closed. So there almost nobody around to see her trip into an alley and collapse, vomiting into the pavement until there was nothing but bile.

The prickles had turned to a heat beneath her skin. The blood was pounding in her temples, her heartbeat so rapid she thought it might crack against her ribs. Still on her knees, her arms gave way, no strength in them left – she couldn't breathe, was getting no air into her lungs –

"Miss, you all right?"

Her throat had narrowed to the space of a wire. A buzzing filled her brain, screeching in and out like a radio being tuned –

"Hey now, it's okay. I work in a hospital; I know how to help."

The voice penetrated her thoughts. Just barely. But she could hear it. The words flitted around her mind, incomprehensible and beyond her reach…

"Head between your legs now, and focus on your breathing…"

It sounded like something her therapist would say… She grasped onto that bit of familiarity.

"Yeah, just like that…"

Her therapist had taught her to breathe like that too. To focus. Concentrate,

"You're safe here, you know…"

She could never be safe…

"Breathe…"

In and out, in and out. The sounds of her own airways opening up, the push and contraction of her lungs, distracted her from the humming in her head.

"See, getting better?"

Her vision was clearing, growing less hazy. She could make out the cracks of the cement she was leaning over. A bit of trash was scattered close by, and her eyes went to it, held by it, fascinated by the swirls of light and color on it.

"Yeah."

There was a hand on her shoulder, she realized, and the voice was unfamiliar. But her breathing had slowed considerably, and the buzzing was almost gone. Staggering slightly, she slid back onto her knees, sitting up to look at the person who had helped her.

It was a young man with dark curly hair, wearing a blue uniform. In the growing darkness, it was hard to make out his features, especially as he was backlit by a street lamp, but his face and gestures were friendly, non-threatening.

"Still need to go to the hospital?" he asked. "I can take you there, free of charge." She must have looked quizzical, because he added, "Serious!"

Laurie shook her head, coughing. When she managed to speak, her voice was croaky. "I'm sorry, but…"

"Do you remember me?" She blinked at him. "Sorry, guess you wouldn't want to. But I'm Jimmy. Jimmy Lloyd."

"Um…" The panicked screech of her brain was gone, but she still felt woozy, like she had just woken up from a long nap. "I don't think…"

"Oh, I was in the hospital when you were taken in."

She laughed a little, the sound wobbly. "I had so many drugs in me then I don't think I remember my own doctor." She forcibly pushed away any other memories there…

The boy, Jimmy, laughed as well, though his was considerably more carefree. "No, I guess you wouldn't." He held out a hand. "Need a hand? Is that your car out there, or do you need a ride?"

"No, I'm fine," said Laurie, accepting his gesture. She stumbled, legs having gone numb against the pavement, but Jimmy did not seem to notice. "Thanks for… your help."

"Anytime." He watched her as she unlocked her car door. Now that he was under the light, Laurie could see that he was rather good-looking, with kind eyes and a gentle smile. Right then, he also looked as if he was trying to work up the nerve to say something.

She found out just what that was as she started up the car.

"Hey!" he called. "Want to – um, want to give me your number?"

Laurie turned surprised eyes on him. "Seriously?" The guy had just pulled her out of a goddamn panic attack, had no idea who she was except that her head was completely fucked up, yet he wanted a date?

But he seemed sincere. "Yeah. Maybe if you want to give me a call, or need some help…" He shrugged. "I work in a hospital, remember? I know things."

She considered him for a long moment, then shook her head. "You don't know me."

"Well, that's the point of calling," he said, grin taking away any mockery that might have been felt.

But he didn't know her background, messed up as it was, and as soon as he found out, he'd probably run the hell away. She would. She killed everyone around her. It was true, whatever the sheriff said. Because of her, Lynda had been murdered. Because of her, Annie had been brutally attacked. Because of her, her parents had died.

And what if she was like _him_? What if one day she woke up with blood on her hands, blood on a knife?

No, she thought. The best thing for her to do was to hide herself in some remote island, never talking or seeing anyone again.

"Trust me, you don't want to do that," she told him, pulling away from the curb. "I'm not very good company."

* * *

It was, she had to admit, nice outside. Middle of summer, sun shining down on them, the grass green and lush… it wasn't too bad.

"I haven't had a relapse of that… thing from last time," said Laurie, looking at her brother. "I don't know why I'm bringing it up." She twisted her hands. "Just… you did do something, and it stopped. I'm not sure what, but you did it."

Michael was just staring at her, as always. He, or the guards, had taken off his robe, since it was so warm, but he kept the mask. There were no restraints at all on him now, but he was just sitting on the bench, hands on his legs, not moving beyond a turn of the head or breathing. In the sunlight, it was easier to see his eyes. Laurie had expected to see the vacancy described in Dr. Loomis's books, or the empty flatness of the photos in there, but she thought that he actually looked quite aware, even observant. When the wind blew strands of her blonde hair out, she could see his eyes flick to watch them before becoming absorbed with her face once more. When the children yelped as they played, she would see him jerk his head around to watch them for a few moments, and if she was talking, see him tilt his head towards her, as if listening to her while keeping an eye on them. It was so strangely human – even paternal – that she wasn't sure what to think about it.

And it was also true – she had had no hallucinations afterwards. She _had_ taken all her medication faithfully since then, but when she had done that in the past, she would still sometimes see things, little more than a white blur or a flicker of pale light in the corner of her eye. After her visit – nothing. Sometimes she envisioned her brother almost as a mental block in her head, pushing it back.

Which was so stupid and crazy she would immediately dismiss it. Hallucinations or not, she was still on meds for her panic attacks and PTSD. That would never go away. And there was only one person to blame for that.

She picked up the children's abandoned coloring books, idly flipping through the pages. After a mad dash run into the yard and a greeting ("Hi Uncle!"), the twins had figured out that their uncle was not going to respond to them in any meaningful way, though Laurie thought that he had, at least, _looked_ at them with interest. They had sat down with their books for the space of five minutes before careening off to play with the equipment, leaving their mother alone with their uncle.

"Your doctor's been talking about pushing the visits to once a week," she said, watching the twins try to shimmy up a pole. Michael's head turned towards her, waiting. "I – I might do it." As if she would say anything else with him looking at her like that. "It'll be easier now, since it's summer vacation. It might harder to do it in the school year." And she would have to make sure one of them fell on Halloween. The doctor had been fairly adamant about it, going on about "prevention better than a cure" and how her brother knowing she was coming on that date would compel him to stay.

"Did he also tell you that he's still working on that good behavior bull?" she said, not caring if she insulted her brother, or that he wouldn't answer. "Because apparently he's trying that again." She didn't want it, reformed relationship or not. She only slept at night knowing that Michael was under high security and never, ever getting out. The thought of him in a minimum-security facility, or worse, freed, was nightmare-ish.

Even more so because as his closest living relative, _she_ would be in charge of him.

"He says the timeline is still fuzzy, and it would take a while, but some of the other doctors think it's encouraging." Michael looked away from her towards the children. "If it does-"

A sudden shriek made her startle and twist around. Jamie was on the ground under a horizontal pole, clutching her head, while John hovered over her fearfully.

"Jamie!" Laurie darted from her seat and ran to her daughter, turning the small girl over. "Are you okay? Let me look… shh…"

"She fell off the pole," John informed her, face pulled in worry. "Right on her head."

Laurie laid an arm under Jamie's back and lifted her into a sitting position. There was sand all over Jamie's dark hair, but she wasn't crying, just grabbing onto her neck.

"Does it hurt?" asked Laurie. Jamie nodded, biting her lip. Laurie massaged it gently, growing less worried when Jamie did not flinch. No bones broken, obviously – and the sand was soft, so probably no concussion… "Honey, I think you just strained your neck a little when you fell, okay?" Jamie nodded again. "I think it'll be okay… just sit here, maybe lean against the pole – John, don't play near her – and it should go away, all right? Go on… I'll get your coloring book, so you won't be bored…"

She turned around to go get it and promptly walked into Michael, who had snuck up behind her.

Laurie had to bite back a scream at seeing him so suddenly behind her. He was so much bigger than her, even with her standing – over a foot taller, if she had to guess. In the back, she could see the two guards stationed at door beginning to move forward, their batons out – evidently, they were just as shocked to see him move as Laurie. But she held up a hand, waving them back, not wanting to escalate what was, so far, a harmless situation. And right then, he was looking down at Jamie, head cocked almost quizzically to one side.

"He's worried about her," John offered as way of explanation. Neither he nor Jamie looked scared to see Michael; facing the other way, they had probably seen him coming.

"Well, Jamie's fine," Laurie said a bit snappishly. "She's fine," she added to her brother. He tilted his head back, then looked over them towards the wall.

"What?" Laurie glanced over her shoulder, but saw nothing. "What is it?" He looked down at her, then back up. "Um… do you want to… walk around the yard a bit?" His head came back down to meet her eyes, which she could only suppose was a 'yes'. "I – okay. Okay, we can – we can do that."

Taking a walk around the garden was the last thing she expected or ever wanted to do with her brother, but if her role here was to keep him happy and docile, then she would do it. Picking herself up, she moved towards the wall, where there was the most space to walk around – and furthest away from her children. Michael followed, easily catching up to her side despite his shuffle. She tried to keep him towards the wall and herself on his left, thinking that if he did anything dangerous, she would at least have space to run. He accepted this passively enough, but her attempts to put more space between them was less successful. No matter how she tried to move away from him, he stuck to her side so that he was only a few inches from her.

Laurie was used to walking for long spaces of time, both with her friends and on her own – could easily get lost in her own head so long as she knew the way and had nothing to do. She would have thought that was impossible in this situation. The sheer bulk of her brother was intimidating; for the first few moments, she kept thinking that he might pick her up, squash her, toss her around, without any trouble. He kept so close that she could smell that faint, hospital-like scent on him, and hear his breathing through the mask.

But he was, in his own way, undemanding, not talking or requiring her to talk. And Jamie and John were oddly, trustingly, accepting of the situation – Jamie, having made a full recovery from her fall, had just come dashing past them, squashing her way between her uncle and mother, John hot on her heels. Michael's solid, silent presence did not seem to trouble them, and they treated him like that, like a piece of furniture. Well, no, not like that; but he had fitted himself into their life, somehow.

So Laurie soon found herself drifting off into her own thoughts as they rounded a corner, getting used to the size and the feel of him in her space. She wondered about this pattern they had. Would she be visiting him for the rest of his life? Was that how this twisted brother-sister relationship would end up being?

What would it have been like if Michael had never killed his family, if she had grown up as Angel Myers? She remembered the things Dr. Loomis had written about the Myers family _("…struggling single mother, juggling a job as a stripper with a string of neglectful boyfriends", "…one of those girls who matured early, the oldest Myers girl did not distinguish herself at school or to her friends and neighbors save for her extreme promiscuity, and would likely have found herself in an early marriage and pregnancy, living on the poverty line")_. Would she have turned out like Judith Myers, flirting her way around boyfriends and then moving out to live in a rundown home of her own? Or like Deborah Myers, selling her body to make ends meet? Would she have been neglected by her mother, abused by each of her boyfriends, and ignored by her siblings?

Or maybe, as the youngest in the family, would she have been given some kind of protection? Laurie sneaked a glance at Michael, who was staring straight ahead at the wall. She thought that, maybe now, she could believe all of Dr. Beckett's theories about being Michael's beloved little sister, the only living family member he cared for and wanted to be with. Would she have gone through life in the Myers home with Michael sheltering her from their family's troubles, making sure she had enough to eat, had proper clothing, was doing well in school, was protected from the worst of the abuse, was loved? Would she have met Jimmy?

Jimmy had persisted, despite her turning him down. At first it was just meeting randomly on the streets – Laurie had spent most of her time out of the Brackett house, not wanting to face the sheriff (who she was sure blamed her for the mutilation of his daughter) or Annie (who she had no idea if she even knew). So they would run into each other as Jimmy's shifts began or ended.

Then he figured out that she was working at a local bookstore, and would drop by. The first few times, he said he was just looking for medical texts and test prep. And just happened to want her advice on them. Then he started taking lunch there, chatting her up. Laurie's coworkers had covered for her, maybe liking how pleasant the guy was, but mostly because they liked the drama.

And then Annie found out, and – whatever she knew about Laurie (and Laurie to this day did not know if she knew) – she helped. She got his number and practically forced it on Laurie. She befriended the guy and would start walking home with him, on the pretext of wanting someone to watch out for her in the evening. She threatened to send filthy, flirty emails to him using Laurie's address.

Finally, Laurie caved and gave him her number. Their first date was at the bookstore she worked at, during an unusually long break, eating sandwiches from a nearby restaurant while talking about her job, her friends, what she was doing. (Later she found out her coworkers had basically acted as guard dogs, shooing away any potential customers who might ruin their moment.) Their second date, they actually went someplace, to the only halfway-fancy restaurant in Haddonfield. They served juicy home-cooked burgers and fat fries sprinkled with cheese and salt. It lasted over three hours, the two of them talking about aspirations and dreams and the future. Laurie thought she might fall for him.

The third date, before it had even started, she told him who she was. He nodded and said he had known who she was – her face _had_ been all over the news – and that the whole "Michael Myers is my brother" sure did explain a lot about why he came after her, and how about that fancy French restaurant for dinner? And don't worry, everyone has felons in their family bloodline; hers just happened to be a lot closer than usual.

He convinced her that it was a normal thing. Later, she told him the full extent of her trauma – not just the panic attacks, but the anxiety, the PTSD, the hallucinations. He said a lot of people suffered from them, that it was perfectly normal she _would_ be affected (scarier if she hadn't been, he said). Later, she told him she didn't want children, didn't want to pass her defective genes down to them. He convinced her that it was not just genes, but environment and treatment, that had just as powerful an effect. Later, she wondered if _she_ would become a killer. He convinced her she wouldn't – she hadn't started now, so why would she? Later, she said he was completely nuts for wanting to be with her. He said, _guess that makes two of us_.

She shook her head, trying to get away from Jimmy, back to her other thoughts. If Jimmy had been her first boyfriend… how would Michael have reacted? Happy? Or as the protective big brother? She had never really thought about having an older sibling; as an only child, any sibling she would have had would have been younger than her. She had even asked that of her parents – the Strodes – when she was younger, if she could maybe for Christmas have a little sister? She had envisioned a cute baby girl she would dress up and play with when she got bored. They had laughed and said that she was enough, and did she really want to share all her toys and attention with another child?

In hindsight, she thought that their refusal was not because they didn't want another child, but because they _couldn't_.

Something brushed her hand, making her jump and lose her train of thought. She looked down and saw that Michael's wrist had come close enough to touch hers on accident while they walked. She frowned – was that on accident or deliberate? A glance at her brother's face (still masked) revealed nothing; he was not even looking at her.

Pushing the thought aside, she continued on their walk around the garden.

* * *

Sometime later, driving home to Haddonfield, the kids asleep (likely exhausted from playing in the garden), Laurie found herself reflecting again on the visit. After visiting hours were over, she had confirmed with the doctor (who was not quite able to hide his glee at another successful visit) that she would be back in two weeks. She had done it without even thinking about it. The visits had become, well, routine.

It would be her… she counted up in her head. Her eighth actual visit. Tenth, if she counted the two times she arrived but left before ever being with Michael. And despite everything, they had been… peaceful.

Arriving home, she let the kids trot, still sleepy-eyed, up to their room, then picked up the phone and dialed the sanitarium.

"Smith's Grove Warren County Sanitarium, receptionist's desk."

She almost regretted what she was doing before saying it – oh God, what _was_ she doing? Resolving herself, she asked, "Yes, I was wondering, um, what items are allowed for… for gifts to patients."

"Well, we have an extensive list of things _not_ allowed. Let me find the list…" There was shuffling in the background. Then, "Here we are. Items considered contraband include: all alcoholic beverages, all illegal drugs including marijuana, narcotics, hallucinogenic, and non-prescribed medication, all smoking and tobacco products, aluminum foil, balloons, cameras, chewing gum, cleaning chemicals, clocks including alarm clocks, combs, dental floss, electronics, flammable materials, glass, headphones, items containing metal bindings such as binders and books, keys, luggage, maps, plastic wrap, radios, rope or twine, Styrofoam, shoelaces, sunglasses, tape, tools or metal utensils, umbrellas, and of course, weapons."

Laurie's head was swimming. "I – that's a lot."

"Safety is a concern here, both for the staff and the patients." The receptionist's voice became a little gentler. "May I ask what patient you are considering bringing a gift for?"

"Um – Michael Myers."

"Myers?" The receptionist's tone changed again, more familiar. "Are you Mrs. Laurie Lloyd? You've been his only visitor the last few months."

"Er, yes."

"Hmm, well, Myers… he generally spends all his time making masks in his room. You'd probably make him quite happy just bringing him some old newspapers."

Laurie didn't _really_ care about her brother's happiness, but such a gift still felt a bit insulting. "I was hoping for something a bit more unique, I guess."

"Well, some of the most common patient gifts are photographs. So long as it is not of the patient alone, or of another patient, they can have it in their room."

She considered it. It would be easy to do, easy to carry in. But did she want Michael having a photo of her and her children with him? They were visiting him fairly often now… but there was something permanent about giving him a photo, an acceptance of him into the family that she wasn't sure she was ready for.

And yet… he had the photo of himself and Laurie as a baby. Maybe it had kept something alive in him, a reminder of the tiny bit that still loved his sister.

She said into the phone, "I might do that."


	10. The Tenth Visit

"So how do you want this to look?" asked Rachel.

Laurie settled down on the step. "Just make sure we're all in the shot."

"Yeah, but do you want portrait or landscape? How zoomed in? Maybe the lighting-"

"Whatever looks best!" said Laurie, laughing. "It's pretty informal, don't overthink it." She hauled her two wriggling children next to her. "Okay, just – John, sit down – no, Jamie, you stand up – no, _Jamie_ stands, _you_ sit, John – _there_ you go, and my arm will go there-"

"Why're we taking a picture now, Mommy?" asked Jamie as she was manhandled into the right position. Photos had generally been taken around Christmas, to be sent to the few friends and family Laurie had left.

"Yeah, I'd like to know that too," Rachel mumbled, fiddling with the camera.

"It's just… something I wanted to do," Laurie said. It was a blatant lie, but she did not have any intention of letting Rachel know who they were giving it too.

"Getting the Christmas pictures done early?" asked Rachel with a wry smile. "Shouldn't you all be wearing reindeer sweaters?"

"Just tell us when you're taking the picture, Rachel!"

"Ready when you are." Rachel held up the camera. "On three… one, two, _three_!"

The camera flashed.

* * *

"Mommy," Jamie whispered a week later, as they walked down the halls of Smith's Grove Sanitarium, "are we going to be in the garden today?"

Laurie glanced at the aide ahead of them, who had heard her question. He shook his head. "Probably not, Jamie. That was a special thing, but it won't happen every time we come visit."

Jamie pouted. "I liked the garden." She had evidently forgotten all about falling and hitting her head.

The aide, however, slowed his pace to match Laurie's. "If your kids get bored, ma'am, you could think about sending them to the children's area," he told her. "It's a part of the hospital for some of the younger patients here, but we also use it for visitors who need to bring children along but don't want them interacting with people here."

"Oh." Laurie had not heard of this, but it sounded like a good solution, particularly as, in her rush to get out the door, she had forgotten to bring any coloring books or toys for her children. "I could do that. Will there be anyone there?"

"We can ask a nurse. It's far from here, in the part of the hospital reserved for short-term patients, so you don't really have to worry about security."

John jerked at her hand. "I want to see."

"Me too!" Jamie chimed in.

Laurie let out a weak laugh. "All right. We'll just, um, say hi to your uncle and you can go, okay?"

Security seemed to be loosening on each successive visit. The room was the same size, and the amount of furniture had not changed, but none of it was bolted down. There were windows, albeit barred ones. No restraints were being used on Michael at all anymore, and there was only one guard at the door. There was no one-way mirror into the room, as far as Laurie could see, giving them even more privacy.

The twins ran into the room and happily greeted Michael, hopping onto the seats nearest him. There was the general 'ooh'-ing over his mask, while Laurie hovered on the sidelines, not sure whether to leap in when they demanded to touch the mask again. (He let them. Jamie declared it "softer" than the previous one.)

Then John wondered why he didn't take it off, and Jamie declared _she_ was going to do that, and Laurie decided it was time to step in.

"Okay guys, want to check out the children's area?"

As she hoped, it distracted them, and with squeals and attempts to out-run each other, she managed to hustle them out of the room and towards a waiting nurse. Michael watched them go impassively (they waved goodbye), and remained looking at the door long after it had closed, as Laurie dragged over a chair and sat down near him.

"I brought this for you," she said without preamble. Michael's masked face snapped over to look at her. She held out the photo, a little bit wrinkled at the sides from where she had been holding it tightly. It took a moment for Michael to look down at it. When he did, he gave no visible reaction, not even a head tilt.

"It's a photo," she said a bit lamely; somehow she had anticipated a greater reaction from him. "Of us."

He continued to stare at it, showing absolutely no indication of what he was thinking. Feeling more and more unsure, Laurie put the photo down and passed it towards him.

For a moment, she thought that was all that was going to happen, her brother just looking at what was probably his first gift in twenty years. But then, Michael lifted a hand from out of his lap and laid it on the photo.

She held her breath, not sure what he was going to do. He didn't make any move at first, beyond resting his fingers near the small group in the photo. However, after another long moment, he tugged the photo closer. His masked head bent closer, as if examining it, close enough that his hair fell on top of it. His fingers seemed to be moving over the faces – not stroking it exactly, but a more hesitant, curious motion.

He had been staring at for probably several moments, Laurie watching with drawn breath. When his movements slowed for a moment, she said, "Michael-"

Two things happened then.

The first was that the walkie-talkie of the guard in the room crackled to life, blaring out instructions in a static-y fuzz.

The second was that the alarm went off.

Laurie jumped so badly at the second that she knocked her chair back, clamping her hands over her ears at the wailing noise. Michael, on the other hand, did not react at all, seemingly still absorbed in the photo.

"What is that?!" she screamed over the din, whirling around to look for the guard. The man was shouting into his radio, paying her no attention. "Hey!" she yelled when she got no response. "What's going on? What's happening?!"

She flew out of her chair, racing towards the guard, who was still speaking frantically into his device. The noise grew more ear-splitting the closer she came to the door, but she could still make out fragments of voices –

_"_ _-receptionist's office, gotten through secure-"_

The voice on the other end crackled to an abrupt stop. The guard swore loudly and began fiddling with some of the knobs, and Laurie unclamped her ears to hear: "-visitor's area, standing by for instructions-"

_"_ _Patients in short-term care have been returned to their cells, patients in long-term returning from lunch, need back-up-"_

It crackled out again. "I'm on my way!" the guard responded, and would have gone out the door if Laurie had not grabbed his arm.

"Wait!" she exclaimed. "What's going on? What's happening?"

"Ma'am, stay here-"

"Tell me what the hell is going on!"

He shook her off. "Intruder break-in, ma'am." Laurie felt a horrifyingly familiar bubble of panic and rocked backwards. The guard, fumbling to put his radio back, did not notice, continued shouting instructions: "Just stay here – this is a secure area and you'll be safe-"

 _"_ _My children are out there!"_ she screamed, lunging at him. "They're in the children's area, I have to go get them-!"

"Ma'am, do not leave the room!" was the guard's answer, now pushing her back. She stumbled, fear boiling over – Jamie, John, trapped, helpless, God knows who coming after them, herself stuck in here, unable to help them... She opened her mouth, not knowing what she was going to say, if it was just going to be a wordless scream, but the alarm was drowning out any words she was making.

The guard jammed the keys in and turned. "The children's area is quite secure, ma'am! Now I have to go – just stay here, nothing will happen to you-"

The door was shutting on her. "No – wait!" She grabbed at the door, but it was too heavy for her. "Please, I have to get to them, you can't-"

It slammed closed.

She wasn't too aware of what happened afterwards. Even at the time, events seemed to come in a series of blurred, disconnected images – a raw tearing in her throat as she screamed, angry, helpless tears overwhelming her – her fists pounding against the door, knuckles aching – clawing at the door handle as it refused to give way –

And then, suddenly, a hand clamping down on her arm.

Laurie could never remember turning; what she would remember later was seeing Michael suddenly appearing behind her, masked face close to hers, his hand gripping hers like a vise – and then being jerked through the air, the room whirling around her, and a sharp pain as her shoulder hit the ground – she was rolling, sliding until, with another painful bang, she hit the wall –

And when she looked up, through a haze of hair and tears, she saw Michael place his hand on the door, give a hard pull – and the door opened with a crack that could be heard even above the alarm, the lock torn loose and long streaks along the door edge and frame where the wood had been gouged out –

She screamed. " _Michael!_ "

He stepped out and was gone.

* * *

Dr. Beckett raced down the corridor, coat flapping, ID badge banging against his chest. The alarm continued its interminable howl as he slid the card through the security panel and barged into the room. He could barely squeeze his way in. The cramped room was already filled with small tables, chairs, and television monitors showing various parts of the sanitarium, but now it was also occupied by the two guards who had been unlucky enough to be on shift there, the head of security, the head nurse, and almost all the other doctors available.

"What have we got?" demanded Dr. Beckett, shutting the door. Mercifully, the alarm did not penetrate here, allowing his brain to have some space to actually think.

The head of security was Mr. Wynn, a burly-looking man in his late forties; at the question, he grunted through his mustache. "All short-term patients have been secured in their rooms. Nurses have taken shelter in a nearby staff lounge and have barricaded the door." He pointed it out on the monitor; Dr. Beckett could see perhaps a dozen women, in white uniforms, huddling under tables or against the wall. Various pieces of extra furniture were piled up against the door. "Long-term patients have been sent back to their rooms – most already inside. Maximum security wing placed on full alert-"

"That won't help if the guards do not have their weapons," interrupted Dr. Walker, his accent thick – really the only way Dr. Beckett could tell he was panicked, for his superior seemed otherwise unfazed. "Have they been able to get to the weapons rack?"

"Some, not enough. You're the ones demanding we never carry guns around – we can barely smack a patient around without a goddamned lawsuit! And we were taken completely by surprise-"

"Yes, yes, we know," said Dr. Koplenson, cutting through the security guard's defenses. "It's an unprecedented event – we're built to keep patients inside, not other people out!"

"Nevertheless, it has happened," remarked Dr. Walker. "Have the police been called?"

"Yes, but it will take them at least ten minutes to get there-"

"Then we hold down until they do. The patients are secure?"

"Just about all of them." As he said this, Dr. Beckett made his own quick perusal of the cameras. They were not installed in the patient's rooms, in the interests of privacy, but he could see down each hallway of each wing, and all were empty.

"The staff? Nurses, doctors, aides, security?"

Wynn tapped the previous screen of the nurses, then another showing a darkened room, "Nurses in the lounge, most of the doctors are here, aides are in a storage facility, security guards are trying to hold them off…" He pointed out screens of the various barred doors, each with a guard positioned behind it.

"Tell them no," ordered Dr. Walker. "Their priority is the safety of the patients. We do not need heroes."

Wynn nodded. "Yes sir."

Dr. Walker glanced over the cameras. "Tell me about the intruders."

The security head tapped on the appropriate screens. "Six, maybe seven heavily armed criminals." He jerked a finger at three different screens from the minimum security area, each showing two or three men racing down the halls. They looked fairly ordinary, wearing leather jackets, jeans, and baseball caps, save that they were bristling with weapons – pistols, shotguns, rifles, one even carrying a bat. "Police say they were on a high speed chase, having just robbed a mall in another town. They crashed their car through the gates, blasted through the receptionist area, and are making their way through the minimum security area. No attacks on the patients so far – looks like they might just be trying to hide here-"

"Or take us hostage!" pointed out Dr. Koplenson in agitation, to the murmur of the others in the room. It would mean being trapped in the hospital for an indeterminate amount of time, with patients with varying severity of illnesses, and their families waiting in agitation – it'd be a nightmare, thought Dr. Beckett.

"Wait-" Dr. Walker held out a hand. "What is that?"

An ominous silence fell over the room as he pointed at a television.

"Dr. Beckett?"

He felt a chill crawl up his spine. His superior was staring at a screen as if he might bore through it if he tried hard enough.

"Is that not your patient?"

The others in the room seemed to melt aside as he pushed his way through. He looked at where Dr. Walker was pointing, at a man walking through the corridor of the maximum security wing.

"That's… um…" He licked dry lips. "Yes. Michael Myers. My patient."

"No shit!" shouted the head of security. "And now he's loose in the fucking hospital!"

"He was in the visitor's area, in the secure wing, I could not have predicted this-"

"You're the one who fucking said to take off his cuffs!" Wynn roared, spit flying. "You're the one who only had one guard there and nobody else fucking watching! Now he's fucking _loose_ , probably fucking killed the guard and the unlucky bastard visiting him, and we're going to have a goddamned shitstorm up to here-"

"Mrs. Lloyd appears to be alive," Dr. Walker said, pointing to yet another screen, this one showing a visitor's room. Indeed (and with an internal sigh of relief), it did seem that Michael Myers's sister was, if not well, then at least moving and on her feet. Even with the fuzzy black-and-white feed, he could tell she was under great distress, blonde hair in tangles and nursing her right arm. Still watching, he saw her open her mouth and say something – it looked like "Michael" – and then dash from the room.

"Shit, and now _she's_ out," muttered Wynn. "What the hell does she think she's doing?"

Dr. Beckett forced him aside. "Where's Myers?" He spotted the man moving along the corridor. In another camera, Mrs. Lloyd was stumbling out the door, frantically looking up and down the hallway. And lastly –

"The children," Dr. Beckett murmured. He looked at where Myers was walking, at the children's area – where a nurse and the Lloyd twins were hiding – and at Mrs. Lloyd. "He's going after the children."

" _What?_ " shouted Wynn.

"No, see." He felt as if he were talking in a dream. "He's at the first door…"

A guard appeared on the screen, blocking access to the door. He was gesticulating, waving the gun at Myers, who had halted. The latter's back was to the camera, but Dr. Beckett had studied the archival footage for hours; he knew his patient's body language. Myers was observing the guard, waiting…

The guard aimed his gun. A collective gasp ran through the room as Myers's hand shot out, faster than Dr. Beckett thought possible for such a large man. He swept the gun to the side – a hole appeared in the wall to his left – and then Myers was on the guard like a cat leaping onto a mouse, hand locked around the guard's throat. Another gasp – and then the guard was being hurled against the bars, body smashing into it and slumping to the ground, only for Myers to grab him again and bash him into it – and then again, and again, smashing one area in particular –

So that finally, when he was finished, the guard's head was little more than a bloody lump, and the lock on the door had been broken up just with the force of his body been crushed against it. Myers swung open the door and stepped through, out of range of the camera.

For a moment, all was silent in the room.

Finally, Wynn snorted. "Well, doc," he said, "looks like your therapy's been doing wonders for the guy."

* * *

The children's area was not very fun.

Maybe Jamie was being mean. It had some toys, like the wire set with little balls she could roll around. There was a dollhouse too, though a lot of the furniture couldn't be moved. Some books, but John was hogging all of them. But there just wasn't anything to _do_ , and the nurse was boring and kept telling them when they were playing with something wrong (she just wanted to move the bed around, she didn't know it was glued on), or reading her magazine.

She thought she'd rather be back with Uncle. He never talked, but she liked that, because it meant she could talk more. Like with John. Mommy had said he hadn't talked in a very, very long time. The longest time Jamie knew was the time of the dinosaurs. Had Uncle seen dinosaurs? She'd asked Mommy that but Mommy just made a funny noise and said "no". But not talking meant he couldn't tell them they were playing wrong, or yell at them for wandering off. Which Mommy did a lot. Especially to Jamie. Not with John, because John just liked to sit around and never do anything, but Jamie liked to explore and see new things, and Mommy didn't like that. Mommy had said that it scared her, which just scared Jamie, because Mommy should _never_ be scared.

Uncle seemed to scare Mommy too, though Mommy said he didn't. But Mommy didn't seem to like going near him, not the way Jamie did. (John didn't go too near him either, but John was just like that _all_ the time.) Mommy always looked kind of funny around him, like she was scrunching up to do a somersault or something. And Mommy's voice always sounded a bit weird when she was talking to him.

She didn't really know why, though. Mommy said that her uncle had done bad things. Maybe he had failed a test at school? Tests were really important to Mommy. Or maybe he stole a toy or something. Once Jamie had grabbed one and forgotten about it until one of the store people had pointed it out. Mommy had said it was okay to forget, but that if she did it on purpose, people would think she was stealing and throw her in jail. Maybe Uncle had been thrown in jail for that.

It was funny to think she had an uncle. All her friends would talk about their Mommy and Daddy, Grandpa and Grandma, Aunt and Uncle and Cousin, but Jamie and John didn't have any. Daddy had said that most people had two Grandpas and two Grandmas, but that theirs had all died. He had also told them not to talk about it with Mommy. And they had no Cousins and no Uncles and Aunts, except for Aunt Annie who came over once but who wasn't their _real_ Aunt, according to Daddy. And now they had no Daddy either.

Rachel had an Uncle. They had seen him once. Neither of them had liked him. His belly was very round and he was kind of smelly and there was no hair on his head, and it always looked very shiny. He didn't really like talking to them, just wanted to hog the TV, even if Jamie and John were watching something. Mommy had said _their_ Uncle was different, but Jamie had thought that if their Uncle was anything like Rachel's, she would never see him again.

But their Uncle seemed nice. Jamie had thought he was a girl at first, because his hair was really long. And he wore funny clothes, like he was going to go bed soon, only it was always after lunch when they visited him, which was _too_ early for sleeping. He let them touch his mask, which Jamie had liked. She had wanted to ask him how he made it so good, but then Mommy had sent them out and she couldn't. And _now_ she was stuck playing here until –

A sound hit her ears, so hard it made her clap her hands over her head.

What was going on?

* * *

When the alarm began, John dropped his book and looked around for Jamie. She was yelling, and he wanted to yell too, because it hurt so much. But the nurse was shouting at them, trying to grab them both but also grabbing her walkie-talkie (which Jamie had tried to touch but which the nurse had said not to) and yelling into it. There was so much noise it made his head hurt.

He had been having fun too. Jamie didn't like books as much as him, but he was happy with them. Some of them had only a couple of pictures, and a few had _only_ words, but he could pull out the ones with lots of pictures and make up the words. (Mommy was teaching him to read, because _his_ teacher was too slow.) He could tell though, with that weird sense that he and Jamie sometimes shared, that she was bored and probably missing their uncle.

John didn't really miss his uncle, or at least not as much as Jamie did. When Mommy had told them about him, he had imagined someone a bit like Daddy, even though Mommy had said no, his uncle was very different. Also, he knew Daddy had never done anything bad, and had never gone to jail, the way Mommy said his uncle had done. That was a bit scary – he'd never met someone who'd been in jail before. So he wasn't really surprised when he came in and saw his uncle for the first time – he was really, really big, way bigger than Mommy or Daddy, and looked kind of messy, and smelled funny, and he always wore a mask. He remembered in the shows he watched, burglars and bad guys always wore masks, so it made sense his uncle would too. (Jamie thought he had gone to jail for stealing a toy, which John thought was true too, since burglars and bad guys always wanted to steal stuff.) Mommy had said not to take the mask off unless his uncle let them. Except it was really hard to tell when his uncle would let him, because his uncle never talked.

John didn't like to talk much either, but his uncle didn't talk at _all_. (Jamie said since the time of the dinosaurs, but Mommy had said a _really_ long time, and John knew from Daddy and his books that there was a time before dinosaurs, full of funny hairy blobs, so maybe that was when his uncle had stopped talking.) Sometimes John forgot he was even there. Except that his uncle stared at them a lot, which was also a bit weird, and distracting.

If he and his uncle had a staring contest, who would win?

But just when he had started thinking about that question, a really loud noise started, and Jamie started crying, and the nurse threw aside her walkie-talkie (John wanted to grab it because he'd always wanted to use one but he also didn't want to uncover his ears), and then she locked the door and pushed a table against it and grabbed them and pushed them under a bigger table and told them to be quiet.

The alarm kept going, and going, and going, until it stopped being painful at all and became background noise. Jamie was staring at the door, face all scrunched up, and John pressed closer to her and held her hand. Jamie was older by 30 minutes, Mommy had told them once, and so she was his big sister and had to protect him. Sometimes John tried to protect her, though.

Mommy had said his uncle was her big brother. That was funny. It was like the opposite of him and Jamie. Did their uncle have to protect Mommy then?

Then the door crashed open, and John saw his uncle standing there, and he began to wonder if his uncle had read his thoughts and come to find him.

The nurse saw him last, if the twins were to be honest. But when she did see him, she screamed so loudly she almost drowned out the alarm.

They saw him come into the room, almost filling it up, knocking aside all the toys. The nurse was scrambling up, and as their uncle approached, she lunged past him, trying to get the walkie-talkie.

She didn't make it. They watched, in horror-struck fascination, as their uncle just lifted an arm and waved it, like he was batting aside a fly. Only it wasn't a fly he hit, it was the nurse, and it made her legs and body go up and go soaring through the air and hitting the wall with a crunch. And when she slid down, there was a red streak along the wall and red all over her hair, and then she made this horrible little twitch and didn't move afterwards.

That was when the twins began to scream as well.

* * *

Laurie stumbled out of the room. Her head was pounding, making the hallways spin in a dizzying kaleidoscope of white walls and bright light, not helped by the incessant, continuous wailing of the alarm. Grabbing onto a nearby wall, she pulled herself up, gritting her teeth as pain shot through her still-aching shoulder.

Her children were somewhere in the sanitarium and there were intruders and _Michael had escaped_ –

She launched herself forward, choosing a direction randomly – her vision was still horribly blurred and she had no idea what direction her brother had gone in – but she was going to find him, she was going to find her children –

And if he had done anything to her twins, she would kill him herself.

She forced herself to continue walking, the alarms screaming in and out as she passed them by. Turn a corner, her legs still shaking – looking for the hulking, familiar shape of her brother –

Instead, she found a barred door, opened, its lock busted, and the bloody body of a guard on the floor. His gun lay beside him, its barrel bent sideways. Laurie ducked her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a second as a wave of nausea almost overcame her. Refusing to look around herself, she stepped through the door.

At least she knew he had come this way.

Her head was beginning to regain its equilibrium, and she started going faster, trying the doors that appeared alongside her. Some had windows, so that she could see inside – often there were patients, some standing and staring back out at her, but most huddled in their beds. She didn't bother them, but tried others – storage rooms, cleaning facilities, bathrooms – nothing. She kept going, not stopping for too long, alarm still ringing –

Another door, another guard. This she could not keep herself from looking; the woman's body was slumped against the half open door, a great red bruise around her neck. Laurie swallowed forcefully, not thinking of _Lynda lying naked with a red mark on her throat and eyes open_ and kept going, kept going –

She had to be in a less secure area now – the windows were no longer covered with grates, she could see doors and windows leading to yards, a mess hall off to her side that was empty of people, though dishes and food had been left abandoned on some of the tables. Her arm was pounding with a dull ache, and with the constant noise she could not hear anything to tell her if there was someone coming, but she just thought of Jamie and John, scared and vulnerable and at the mercy of intruders or their uncle, and she moved, one foot after another –

Ahead she saw another barred door, ajar, another body lying near it, feet partway blocking it, and she kept going, no longer sure where she was, except to follow the trail of victims –

_Bang._

Laurie threw herself down, hands over her head. When she looked up, it was to see a scruffy looking man with a baseball cap and a pistol running down the opposite hall.

"Got your attention with that, didn't I?" he shouted over the alarm, brandishing the gun with too-casual vigor. Not a guard, as he wore no uniform, not an aide or a nurse for the same reason… one of the intruders. A wave of fear almost knocked her back.

The stranger said, "Come on, move on over there-" He gave a little point with the pistol, forcing Laurie to crawl back until they were as far from the alarm as possible. As she shuffled away, he gave her a look-over that made her skin crawl. "You're not one of 'em, are you? The crazies?" He snickered, then shouted, "Hey, Lou!"

'Lou', another fellow who looked much the same as the first man but with slightly longer and darker hair, came tromping down from the hallway ahead of her. He was carrying his own pistol and, ludicrously, a baseball bat, which he had leaning against his shoulder. Upon seeing Laurie, he stopped and whistled.

"I know, right?" said the first man, eyes hard and shining. "Gotta be one of 'em nurses or somethin' – maybe even a doctor."

"Don't look like a doctor," Lou commented, appraising Laurie like she was a dumb animal. "C'mon girl, get up, just wanna take a looksee…"

She stood up slowly, hands where he could see them, not making a sound. How far were these people in the sanitarium? Had they reached the children's area? Did they have Jamie and John?

"Doctors got money, don't they?" said the first man. He aimed his pistol at her. The shiny barrel held her gaze; she couldn't see anything except the hole, her own death, and her children left alone and completely vulnerable. "C'mon lady, hand it over."

She shook her head, tongue gone too heavy for words.

Lou snorted, swinging his bat from one shoulder to the other. "Don't try to be a hero, lady. Give us what you've got and we won't touch you."

Laurie shook her head again. "I don't have any," she said croakily. "It's – it's in my purse-"

"You lyin' to us?" Lou demanded, voice gone quite flat.

"No!" She pressed herself against the wall. "I'm a visitor, they take all our things before we go in, I don't have it-"

"Well shit," sighed the first man. "Think we oughta search her?"

"Nah," muttered Lou, though still loud enough to be heard over the alarm – again the goosebump-inducing look over Laurie, feeling vulnerable in her jeans and shirt, with only a cardigan on for warmth. "Not hiding anything on her, Dan."

The first one, Dan, pulled up his pistol. Laurie's internal sigh of relief lasted only a second before the man stepped close to her. "So who you visiting, sweetheart?" he whispered. "One of the loons locked up here?"

"None of your business," Laurie snapped, before she could stop herself. Her eyes flicked to the gun.

Dan tsked, pulling it back. "Don't even think about it, sweetheart. Lou-" he threw over his shoulder, "-watch her if she does anything." He reached for her arm. "Now come on dearie, come along with Dan and Lou here-"

She brought her knee up, ramming it into his crotch.

Dan howled, doubling up in pain, the noise joining the still-ringing alarms. The pistol came swinging up but Laurie grabbed his arm, holding onto it for dear life, aiming it away from her – in the back, she saw Lou roaring in fury and whirling his bat –

She tried to dodge but only partially succeeded – the bat slammed into Dan's side but also hit her left arm. The pain was intense, ringing up her bones, and she let go on instinct – and Dan, swearing loudly at both her and Lou, jerked his own arm up and aimed the gun –

A crash.

Laurie, clutching her arm, saw three things. The first was the door behind Dan suddenly exploding into a shower of wooden splinters – she had to raise an arm to protect herself, crouching down as they rained upon her. The second was Dan being knocked aside, going flying through the air towards her. She fell back, crawling aside, and he almost bounced against the wall where she had been standing. His partner was yelling in confusion, and she could hear terrified screaming, not sure if it was her or someone else, because the third thing was a huge gray shape that reached out and grabbed Dan by the neck.

She screamed. " _Michael!_ "

It only added to the din, and Michael, if he heard, did not seem to notice her, was squeezing a struggling Dan against the wall, the man's feet raised over a foot off the floor and kicking wildly. Laurie scrambled away, still screaming. Lou raised his bat and brought it down on Michael's back, but he did not react at all, did not even seem to feel it, and Laurie saw a brief look of shock pass over Lou's face –

Then Dan was being hurled again against the opposite wall, his head smacking the surface and baseball cap flying off – Lou was backing away, fear passing over his face because Michael had turned on him. He swung his bat, only for Michael to catch it – to hold it as Lou, screeching, tried to grab it back against the other's inexorable pull towards him –

A jerk. The bat went flying out of Lou's hands, clattering against the floor. Some part of Laurie told her to make a dash for it, but the rest of her was held by the mayhem going on before her and only watched as Michael scooped up Lou like a kid and threw him against a window. The glass shattered, shards raining against the floor, red with Lou's blood as the man collapsed on the floor, and Laurie saw his back filled with them, sticking out like the spines of porcupine –

Over in the corner, Dan was recovering, mumbling curses. His hand dragged over his gun, fingers scurrying to grab it – then Michael moved towards him and grabbed his head in one hand. As Dan shrieked and struggled, Michael pressed his head against the wall, squashing it further and further – blood dribbled out between his fingers –

Laurie turned away from the sight and screamed, then almost threw up where she remained curled against the wall. Her stomach was twisting up, her chest heaving as she choked, face inches from the ground.

Eventually, she heard the shrieking stop, but her eyes remained closed, not wanting to see.

A thump, and then, penetrating her consciousness, two very familiar little squeals. Laurie opened her eyes to see Michael dragging out, from behind the ruined door, her two children.

She shot up, elation overwhelming her – Jamie and John were _alive_ –

But they were with –

Jamie spotted her first, and tried to run to her. "Mommy-!"

With one arm, Michael scooped Jamie up around the waist; with the same arm, he grabbed John as well. They started shrieking, their little arms and legs flailing uselessly. "Mommy! _Mommy!_ "

Rage took over, pushing away all thoughts of fear and safety, and Laurie found herself running towards them. " _Michael, let them go_ -!"

He turned his masked head on her. With his other arm, her brother grabbed _her_ by the waist and scooped her up like a child.

She screamed, kicking him, trying to throw off his grip, but he just kept moving. A horrible memory was coming back – hiding in the Doyle's house, in the bathroom – Tommy and Lindsey sobbing in the tub as they hid – and the black shape punching his way through the door, brutally stabbing a police officer, grabbing her and pulling her out of the house –

Something snapped in her. She tore her hands against his sleeve, punching whatever she could of him. "Michael, let them go, let me _go_! Michael, _stop_ – _stop please_ -!" But he ignored it all, like it was the battering of a flea, dragging them back through halls, back over a body – her children had stopped screaming and were crying as they passed battered doors and bloody bodies –

" _MICHAEL!_ "

He dropped her.

Laurie fell to the ground in a heap. Her throat was aching from shouting so much, her arms and legs numb from trying to wriggle free. She scooted back, throwing hair out of her face and preparing to fight for her children – but then she saw Michael looming over her, and –

He dumped the twins on her, letting them go like two sacks of potatoes.

For a moment, Laurie was too stunned to react, both from surprise and from the weight of the two children falling on her chest. The twins, however, were quicker to react, throwing their arms around their mother.

"Mommy!" Jamie squealed.

Laurie gasped. "Jamie – John – are you-?"

"It was so scary-"

"It's so loud!"

"And the nurse made us hide under a table-"

"And then Uncle came-"

Laurie was talking over them, sobbing despite herself. "You're okay. Oh God, are you hurt? Did he hurt you?"

John was quivering, but he shook his head. "He grabbed us – Uncle took us away-"

Jamie wriggled in closer and whispered, "Mommy, the nurse, she was _bleeding-_ "

Laurie grabbed them both in her arms, muffling their whimpers. "It's okay," was all she could say. She wiped away her tears, squeezing her twins. "You're okay. It's okay…" She checked them over. Their clothing was rumpled, their hair a mess, and there was blood on them, but no wounds she could see, nor did they wince or yelp when she cuddled them closer.

Above her, Michael remained standing, staring down at her. Even over the din of the alarm and the frantic hugs from her children, she could sense his gaze. There was an expectation about him, a waiting. It dawned on her slowly that they were back in the visiting room, half lying on its floor. And incredulously, she realized what Michael had just done.

He had broken out of the room with unnerving ease, had killed several guards and, if her children were to be believed, a nurse. But he had not tried to make his escape. He had not tried to hurt the twins. He had not even hurt her, or at least (Laurie thought), not intentionally. Instead, he had dragged them from the children's area. He had dragged _her_ back here. He had killed two of the criminals who might have assaulted her.

And the only reason he could have done it, she thought, heart twisting, was because he thought that was what _Laurie_ wanted. If he had wanted just to escape, he need not have taken them back. If he had wanted the children for himself, for whatever purpose, he would not have come for Laurie or saved her. If he did not care about the children, he would have just stayed with her in the visitor's room. And if he had wanted her and her children dead, he could have easily done it while they were alone, then broken out to go after the twins.

She sat up, tucking the children into her arms. "Michael…"

Then the alarm stopped.

The sudden silence was so startling that it shocked Laurie out of whatever she was going to say. For a moment, she simply looked around the room, thinking that maybe the police had come, maybe the intruders had gone away, maybe everything was all right…

A gunshot echoed down the hallway, and in the quiet, she could hear cursing and footsteps, which she knew were not the police.

For a moment, Laurie stayed frozen; even Michael turned around, looking out the door.

Then she sprang into action. "Get by that corner!" she shouted at her children. They ran, hunching near the heater. Laurie took in the windows (barred), the walls (no mirror or glass), the furniture (intact, unbolted, and still in their places), and the door (open, lock shattered). Moving quickly, she grabbed the table and dragged it to the door, kicking it shut. The broken lock bumped against the frame, bouncing it open, but she heaved the table onto its side and shoved it against the door until it stayed as closed as possible. Grabbing two chairs, she pushed them up against the knob and another near the table, then dragged a third over as well.

Panting with effort, she backed away, still facing the door, brushing up against Michael, who was also watching the scene. She could not think about his thoughts or his reactions now – the intruders, criminals, whoever they were, would find the bodies of their partners soon… might follow the trail of bodies back… and if they saw this door was unlocked, could come barging in…

Without taking her eyes from the door, she called out, "Jamie. John." The twins rushed back towards her. She grabbed their arms. "Get behind me. Don't make a sound." Squeezing them tightly, she pressed them back, felt them shiver against her leg, shushing even the smallest whimper.

The shouting grew closer; even through the metal door, she could hear it. She was breathlessly aware of every moment, every breath, every touch against her skin – her children's sticky, sweaty hands in her own, Jamie's hair tickling her wrist, John's warm body pressed against her leg, Michael standing like a statue just a few inches behind her, his robe brushing against her back.

The footsteps and shouting grew louder, closer… then stopped.

They waited.

A thud against the door that made it shudder, and then a whoop. She jerked, forced herself back into stillness. Beside her, her children squeaked and then hushed themselves. There was a tingling against her spine where she knew Michael was closest. She could hear his heavy breathing through the mask, but did not, could not, look at him.

Another bang. The chair against the knob was pushed back, its legs hitting the floor. The twins squeaked.

A louder bang. This time it was the table that shuddered, moving back a few inches. Laurie couldn't help pulling back as well, tugging her twins even closer. The shouting was growing clearer – a gap had appeared, and she could see movement behind it. She thought that maybe she should move, get to a corner, but her legs refused to obey. And in the bare room, there was nowhere to hide.

One last crash, and the table slid back a foot, knocking over the nearby chairs. The door was heaved open.

Five men barged into the room. They all looked similar to the two Laurie had encountered – leather jackets and jeans and stubbled faces hidden under baseball or hunting caps, all of them sporting at least one weapon. Their shouts and whoops filled the room, and Laurie felt her children creep even closer to her.

"Fellas!" shouted one, the tallest and oldest-looking of the bunch. When the noise didn't stop, he whistled. "Fellas," he repeated in a quieter tone, "we got a lady here with us. Show some manners." He holstered his own pistol.

His eyes fell on Laurie, then on her children, and finally lingered on Michael, looking him up and down. He was only a little shorter than her brother and unlike the rest of his group, did not seem intimidated by him. The others spread out around the room, one blocking the door, the others pushing the table away or standing in a corner. Their leader parted his lips in a grin that did not meet his eyes. Laurie did not believe any of his pretenses at politeness; there was a cold look to his eyes that made her draw back.

"So," he drawled, "you the feisty gal who did it?"

She just looked at him.

He didn't seem surprised by her silence. "You the one who killed Dan and Lou back there."

Laurie shook her head, not daring to answer.

"Hey Phil," said the man near the door. "Think the big guy did it?"

Again, the appraising look. "Could be. He's one of the crazies though, isn't he?"

"Maybe he's one of the violent crazies," another pointed out.

"Might be." Phil made a move towards Michael, fingering his gun. "So, you the guy who did it?" He lifted a hand, made as if to poke him.

Laurie stepped in-between the two men, dragging her two children with her. "Don't touch him." She didn't know whether she was warning the man or protecting her brother; all she knew was that it would be very bad if anyone touched Michael.

There was a guffaw from the men. Laurie knew how she looked – a young woman, guarding two kids, attempting to shield a man who was over a foot taller than her. Even Phil smiled. "You got feelings for this guy? What is he," his eyes looked over her children, "your husband?"

"My brother," snapped Laurie. Behind her, she felt Michael's breath stir her hair.

Phil stepped closer. He towered over her and the children, and so close to her, she could smell his breath. "That's sweet, lady. Guess you're visiting him?"

"Yes." Her hands were shaking, and she tried to force them back into stillness.

"Aren't you sweet?" Phil pressed closer. Laurie and her children had basically backed into Michael. At that moment, she felt his hand brush gently against the back of her wrist. It felt deliberate and, strangely, reassuring.

Phil said, "But you've never answered the question, big guy." His eyes went up over Laurie's head, looking at Michael. "You the one who did it?"

Michael, as expected, did not answer, but she knew, without looking, that he was staring levelly down at the other man. Laurie could barely breathe; the tension between the two was thickening, and with her and her children trapped in the middle of it.

Phil just looked back at him, a little grin twisting his feature. "I'm noticing something, big guy," he said. "There's blood all over your hands there. Gotta wonder how that got there."

Michael was silent. Laurie was ready to scream, sensing something building in the man behind her, and wanting only to get out from between them, get herself and her children away.

Phil shrugged. "All right." He flicked a hand over his shoulder. "Grab her and the kids. They'll make good hostages when the police come. Take care of him."

The men surged forward. Laurie tried to step back, opening her mouth. She was going to say "Wait". She was going to say "Stop".

She didn't get to say any of it.

What she would remember, later on, would be a series of movements that she could only put together later. What first happened (she would always know) was feeling a hand – not Phil's, not any of the men's, but a hand _behind_ her – circle her arm. Instinctively, she had tightened her hold on her children's bodies, desperate to keep them with her –

The next memory would be of being hurled to the ground and sliding along the smooth floor to the back of the room. She would still be holding her children, they would be tangled up with her, rolling alongside her amidst an explosion of screams and cursing –

And then she would see Michael grabbing Phil by the face with one hand and the man's shoulder with another, and – as the group swarmed around him – giving a sharp twist.

_Crack._

The body slumped to the floor, head turned at an unnatural angle.

Laurie might have screamed; she could never remember later on. The last thing she saw was Michael moving forward like lightning to grab the next man – and then she turned and grabbed her children and ran for the other side of the room. She could hear more thuds, another crack, the splintering of wood. The sound impacted in her brain, gave her an idea –

She must have shouted "Move!" because her twins were dashing alongside her. She dived for the table, still on its side, and heaved it along the wall until all four legs were pushed up against it. "Get behind it!" The twins crawled over the bottom legs, huddling inside, shielded from anything going on in the center of the room – Laurie, frantic, looked over her shoulder before joining them –

It was chaos. The shouting was bouncing off the walls, making a horrific din. Michael was a gray form, his hands on one man, lifting him several feet into the air. Two bodies were at his feet – she saw Phil, with his head still twisted almost the other way, and another – Laurie almost threw up – with a bloodied stake through his chest and the destroyed remnants of a chair nearby –

A clatter, and she saw one of the two remaining men dive for a gun, fumble with it, and fire –

Michael's shoulder jerked; a red circle splattered over it. Laurie screamed.

The sound drew the man and he half-crawled, half spun and aimed –

She threw herself down and heard a crack over her head, diving down, she saw a hole spider-webbing out from the wall near her. Pushing her children back, she pulled herself behind the table and threw the twins between her and the wall, shielding them…

A third gunshot, but this sounded nowhere near her. A sharp cry and yet another snap. More thuds. Wet crunches. A low moaning that went on and on before petering out. A low scream that ended in a choking that stopped abruptly.

Then just a slow, constant dripping.

Laurie lay behind the table a long time, feeling only her curled up limbs and the shallow breathing of the twins. She kept waiting for something – for a hand on her shoulder, for the table to be shoved aside, for voices and more gunfire – but there was only a lingering silence, broken by the drip.

At last, she untucked herself and looked out.

There were bodies lying on the floor, but she avoided looking at them. Blood covered the ground, swathing a large area of the room in red. Around the edges she could see streaks where a person might have been dragged back, splatters dotting up against the walls, and handprints. Of the furniture, only the table and one chair had survived; the rest were smashed or torn apart or crushed against the wall.

And in the center was Michael, standing as still as before.

Slowly, Laurie crawled out. The heavy smell of copper hit her nostrils the closer she approached, all too familiar. She should be panicking, she thought distantly, all the bodies and the blood, it was like something out of her worst nightmares, her deepest fears – but she couldn't really feel anything, think anything. It all seemed unreal, not quite occurring to her. Michael did not look at her; his masked face was staring at the nearest body, and she could see the slow rise and fall of his breathing. There was blood over not only his hands, but up his arms and sleeves, to his elbows. Moving around, she could see small droplets of it on the front of his shirt and pants. Still circling cautiously, unable to avoid stepping in the blood, she saw the source of the dripping sound. There was a slowly growing red patch on his shoulder.

"Michael," she said softly. "You're bleeding."

He swung his gaze around to look at her, eyes shadowed behind his mask.

There wasn't really any thought left in her head; she was moving more on instinct than anything else. As if from a distance, Laurie saw herself reach for his robe and pull it off. The fabric stuck to the blood, forcing her to tug at it, but Michael did not seem to notice any pain. She crumpled it in a wad in her hand, not caring if blood got on herself. Still detached, she dragged the one remaining chair over, unconcerned if it was on top of the blood, and moved to her brother.

"Sit down," she murmured.

After a short pause, he did, still watching her. Laurie moved to look at the wound. It looked worse against his white shirt, a slowly blooming red circle.

She said, "I'm going to put pressure on it." Her voice was still, almost detached, as she looked directly at him.

He was still looking at her, but something about the relaxed set of his body, his slow breathing, made her feel as if he was accepting that – giving her permission. She pressed the wad that was his robe against his shoulder, letting it sit there. The red of the blood around them, the metallic smell, and the pressure of her hand against her brother's body, burned itself into her mind.

Slowly, thoughts came filtering back in. Michael had brought back her children. That had happened. He had brought her back here with them. That was also something that had occurred. And when the intruders, criminals, whoever they were, had broken in, Michael had killed them. And he did this because…

Because…

Because Laurie had said she wanted her children back. Because the intruders had threatened them.

So he had saved them.

Laurie let that thought echo in her mind, pressing the cloth closer. Blood seeped into the fabric at its edge.

She did not delude herself. Her brother was still the person who had killed her friends and family. Still the man who, as a boy, had slaughtered several people in his home. And today, in getting to Jamie and John, he had murdered several guards and nurses. He was not a hero. But in his own way, he had protected her. He did what he did because he saw a threat to Laurie and her children and he had acted to get rid of it.

Suddenly, Laurie wanted more than ever to see what was behind the mask. It wasn't just to see if she might detect any emotion there. She wanted to look at the person who had saved them. She wanted to see the face of her brother.

His head was still tilted up to look at her; with him sitting and her standing, she was, just barely, taller than him. Her fingers hooked under the mask, but stopped, looking at Michael's eyes, inquiring.

He looked back. There was something accepting, mutely appealing in his gaze, and she had that sense again, of permission.

Very carefully, she pulled off the mask.

It was an ordinary face. She had not remembered that. She could barely remember his face at all – no memory of him as a child, and the only clear photos of him in Dr. Loomis's book were when he was younger. Even the first time he had unmasked himself, it had been in shadow, half-hidden behind his hair. She had never gotten a good look at it, and her imagination had twisted it, melding it with the cracked, blank face of his mask, into something more monstrous. But he did not look like a monster right now. He looked like a normal man.

There were strands of hair falling over his face, damp with sweat from being trapped under the mask. Laurie found herself raising a hand and sweeping them off, frowning slightly as she gazed at him. He gazed back. The fact that she had touched him, of her own accord, maybe for the first time since they were children, did not seem to affect him. And oddly, it did not affect her, other than a quiet little thought: _Oh, I just touched him._

Laurie found her curiosity deepening the more she looked at him. It was funny, but she had always thought his eyes would have that flat, feral look described in Dr. Loomis's books – the blackest eyes, he called them. Perhaps they did look that way at other times – probably did when he was killing the intruders – but right now, they were clear and observant, taking her in as much as she was him.

There was a scuffle, and she was peripherally aware of the twins coming out from behind the table. If they were frightened of the bodies, of the blood, they didn't show it, but stepped over anyway, sneakers sticking to the drying blood.

"Mommy?" That was Jamie, tugging at her cardigan. "Did – did Uncle do this?"

Laurie nodded, lowering her hand from Michael's face. Their gazes were still riveted to one another's, not aware of anyone else.

"They were going to hurt us," said John from behind his sister. It was not a question, but Laurie nodded again anyway.

Jamie asked, "So – did Uncle save us?"

Another nod.

There was a pause, a wondering look on both the twins' faces. She saw them look at the broken door, at the table they had hidden behind, and flinch away from the bodies, still with that distant, curious gaze. Then, as one, their faces stilled, coming to a decision.

Jamie was the first. She stepped over and laid a hesitant hand on Michael's bloody wrist. "Thank you, Uncle."

After a moment, John did the same, echoing her words. "Thank you, Uncle."

Michael dropped his gaze, looking at their hands on his arm, then at the children, holding their gazes. Laurie stepped back, letting them have that moment, and continued pressing against his wound. After a second, her brother dropped his stare. She felt him breathe out, long and steady, like a sigh.

That was how the police found them, following their way through the carnage: Michael sitting, docile and bloody-handed, the two children at his side, and Laurie with the cloth still pressed to his wound.

* * *

"You realize this will set back some of the progress he has made? Certain liberties we've been allowing him?"

"Yes."

"The deaths of three guards and a nurse – needless."

"Yes." Her voice was mechanical, devoid of emotion.

"Even the intruders, all seven of them, did not do what he did. Just the receptionist – a few cuts and bruises, she was more scared than injured."

"I know."

Dr. Beckett rubbed his eyes, looking very gray and tired. "Not that we're not, erm… grateful, I suppose… for what he did."

Laurie did not move her gaze from the hospital door. "I understand. He's not a hero. He's a serial killer."

"Well… yes." He was peering at her. "Mrs. Lloyd, are you sure-"

She waved away his concerns. "I'm fine." The movement made her twins stir from where they were sleeping against her. The three of them had clustered onto a small bench outside the sanitarium medical wing, where the guards had taken Michael. She could not remember much of what happened when the police had finally arrived, except being shooed away, them putting restraints on Michael and taking him away, then ushering her out. A nurse had checked her and the children over and filled them in on events: the identities of the intruders; the whereabouts of other patients and staff; injuries and deaths; police cordoning off the area.

And yes, physically, they had been pronounced healthy, save for some bruises here and there and small scratches. They were visible now, with her cardigan pulled off – red and blue blotches on the skin around her upper arm and shoulder, little red scabs around her hands and wrists. Jamie and John had had the blood washed off their faces and clothes as best as they could.

Dr. Beckett sat on the bench next to her. "I know the nurses said you were, but… the video footage did show Michael Myers, well, grabbing you, throwing you around… it's not really the kind of behavior we were hoping he would display, particularly with you…"

She shook her head, knowing what he had assumed. That Michael had deliberately hurt her. That he did not care. That it might have led to worse violence, even killings. But it was wrong. Yet she also did not know quite how to explain it, not without sounding as crazy as… well, her brother. Dr. Beckett, however, waited patiently, letting her find the words.

"I don't claim to – to understand him," she began, kneading her fingers. "But I think I know… in this case… what he might have been thinking. He…" The words jammed in her throat, and she swallowed thickly. "No, _I_ – I told him – well, no, I _said_ – when the guard ran out, when I was scared… that I wanted my children with me. And he _heard_ me. He understood – in his own way. So… he did it. He went out and… got them."

The doctor began to say something, something about the guards, and she nodded quickly. "I know about that. The thing is, when I – I guess I did tell him to do that… but when he went out, to do what I asked… he doesn't think about – about anyone else, about… not hurting them. I think they're…" She chewed on her lip. "I think he just sees them as… obstacles, in his way." Maybe that was how he saw her parents, a long time ago, her friends, even his own doctor.

Dr. Beckett waited.

"And I think… he _knew_ when I was in danger and was trying to – to protect me. It's just…" _Screaming as she fled down the street, struggling as he carried her out of the house…_ "It's the same thing. He does that, he's single-minded about it, and he doesn't really care or maybe even see if someone is scared or crying or accidentally hurting them… he just does what he thinks needs to be done, and it's all… irrelevant."

There followed a short silence. Jamie snuffled in her sleep and curled up closer to Laurie as she stroked her hair.

"You know him well," Dr. Beckett commented finally. There was a glint of admiration in the midst of his weariness.

She shook her head. "Not really. But with what happened today… I could make a guess."After a second, "Is he all right?" She felt like she was asking more out of obligation than curiosity - she had seen Michael take half a dozen bullets, including one to the head, and keep walking.

"A bullet to the shoulder, which we pulled out. Some blood loss, but it doesn't seem to have affected him." Like her, Dr. Beckett seemed to assume that Michael was more than likely to recover from the wound.

She picked at a thread in her cardigan. "He probably saved our lives."

"If I bring it up, it might affect his odds of being transferred to another facility…" _And possibly release,_ seemed to be the unspoken statement.

The thought did not make Laurie flinch as it had before, but she still shook her head once more. "No. He can't. I don't-" _I don't want him with me,_ she might have said, but was that quite true anymore? "He just can't be out. Whatever he's done today… doesn't make up for everything else." That she did know. She clung to it.

Dr. Beckett nodded. "I agree. But Mrs. Lloyd-"

"Laurie." She managed a weary smile. "I think we've talked enough that you can call me that."

"Ah – Laurie." He returned her smile. "Perhaps you might agree now that you… helped?"

Again, she waited for that internal recoil – the thought of aiding her brother in any way had been anathema – but it too was gone. She just felt tired.

"Yes," she said. "I suppose I did." She stood. "Could I see him?"

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

A little while later, with the pulling of a few strings, she was allowed into the sanitarium's medical wing. There were police and nurses swarming the area, not for injuries, but for the dead. Several had been zipped into black body bags, while another was covered with a white sheet. Some were still exposed, and Laurie recognized several pulped bodies, but she averted her eyes, hurrying past. Phone calls were being made in hushed voices; she tried not to listen to that as well. In a separate section were a few patients. She had been told that none had been assaulted during the attack, and could only assume they had already been occupants in the medical wing before. They were lying in a communal room, one hooked up to an IV. However Michael, was befitting a maximum security patient, was placed in his own room. She knew when she had reached it – it was the only door that seemed to be made of heavy steel and had a durable lock on it. And there was a guard outside. A quick murmur from the accompanying Dr. Beckett, though, and he let her inside.

The room itself was small, little more than a cell, windowless, and lit only be an overhead bulb covered with a metal mesh. The only furniture was a hospital bed, which was held to the floor. There were no other machines, not even an IV drip. She supposed her brother hadn't needed it. She did not hear Dr. Beckett murmur that he was going to leave her alone, nor notice the door shutting behind her.

He was lying in the bed, half covered with a blanket, and Laurie felt a dim little surprise that they had managed to find a bed big enough for him in the first place. Well, she supposed they would have; he had been there for over two decades now. Straps held him down – also not unexpected, considering who he was. They had taken away the dirty robe she had used to stop the bleeding and replaced his shirt as well, but she could see the edge of a bandage peeking out from beneath his collar.

As soon as she came in, she felt his gaze on her, but it was no longer as oppressing as before – hadn't been for a while. There was no chair, so she came to stand by his bed, examining him. He wore no mask for now; she had dropped it on the floor after taking it off and assumed it was still there, probably cleaned up and thrown away by now. But his hair had fallen all over his face again, and she was startled to find that she had to resist the urge to brush it away. Yet even not being able to see him clearly, she could feel the strange, gentle weight of his eyes, a lingering acceptance from their moments before.

"Hello, Michael," she said. The words were foreign in her mouth – was this the first time she had ever actually greeted him? Perhaps. She considered what next to say. "The twins are okay. And me." She couldn't really ask him how he was feeling, since he would not give an answer, but she did make a show of examining his shoulder. "I guess you're okay too."

Quiet fell, but with none of the tension of her first visits. This felt normal, even companionable.

Laurie reached into her pocket and unfolded a glossy piece of paper. "I think they forgot to give you this." She handed over the photo. It had fallen on the floor when Laurie had moved the table, far away from the carnage that it had not been smeared with blood. His eyes dropped to it, then back to hers. She slipped it under his blanket, where he would be able to reach it.

Another period of silence. It was quieter in the room than in the visitor's area – no music being piped to them, no whir of the heating system, no quiet electronic buzz of the cameras. Not quite sure what to do, she perched herself on the edge of his bed, one leg swinging.

Laurie knew what she was feeling, knew that she wanted to acknowledge it in some way to her brother – her frightening, fascinating brother whose presence had changed so much of her life in the last few months – but she could not quite come up with the right words.

 _Some English teacher, huh?_ was her brain's barbed comment.

"Michael," she began, then stopped. Maybe it didn't really matter, the exact way to say this. "I still – I still remember Halloween." He was watching her. "Everything that happened that night. You killed… so many people. My friends, my family. And…" She swallowed. "I can't forget that, or forgive that. I still have nightmares, I still can't – can't open a door or see trick-or-treaters or walk down a street at night without feeling… so _afraid._ "

She hesitated now. "But… you saved their lives – Jamie and John's. You saved _my_ life. And… I don't know if that makes up for anything… no, I know it doesn't… but it's…" She tried to find the right words. "I'm grateful."

He looked at her a moment, and something had shifted while she spoke, for she felt the heaviness of his glance and lowered her own gaze for a second, poking at the photograph lying partway beneath the blanket.

Then Michael did a strange thing. Despite the strap that confined it, he twisted the hand closest to her so that it was up, palm facing towards her. She might have missed it, had she not already been looking down. For a second, Laurie _was_ going to dismiss it as just a random movement – except that she had learned throughout her visits that there was very little Michael did that was random.

She glanced up. The burden of his gaze seemed to have lightened; there was instead only an anticipation, a hopeful waiting. Then, she figured it out.

Without hesitating, she reached over and tucked her hand in his, not surprised to see how his absolutely dwarfed hers. It was only her second time touching him, and she heard that same tiny thought: _I did it again._ She could feel the roughness of his palm, the calluses. Wrapping her fingers around his, she gave a tiny squeeze.

"Michael… thank you."

And Michael squeezed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The head of security is surnamed Wynn; if you watch the original Halloween series, it's the name of one of the other doctors and, in the sixth movie, the "Man in Black" who controls and aids Michael. In the remake, there's a nurse with that last name, probably Rob Zombie's shout-out to the character; she's the one Michael stabs in the neck with a fork. I kind of thought of my Wynn as that nurse's younger brother or son (which would explain why he's so cynical).
> 
> I also considered, for this chapter, having there be a breakout of the patients which threatens Laurie, Jamie, and John, but decided against it early on because 1) it's been done a lot and 2) it's not representative of people with actual mental illnesses (people with mental illnesses are more likely to have violence done to them than they are to inflict violence).


	11. Epilogue

The sanitarium looked suitably frightening. Cobwebs draped themselves over the walls, floating gently with each passing wind while their inhabitants watched from dark corners, waiting to drop on unsuspecting prey. The hinges of the gates creaked as they opened, fog brushing along their bottom. Skeletons hung from the walls, teeth agape in a terrifying grin. If she listened closely, she could hear whispers from the ceiling, the dripping of broken water pipes, or faint footsteps that seemed to come from the floor above.

When the sanitarium decorated for Halloween, they certainly knew how to do it.

"Only for those who enjoy it," noted one nurse, her uniform splattered with (fake) blood. "We shut off the music for those with anxiety, panic, or post-traumatic stress disorders, and only certain hallways have the decorations. No makeup either – if those patients need us, we need to be able to take off any effects quickly." She indicated how it was only her coat that had the blood, allowing her to quickly strip it off.

The maximum security wing was apparently one of those places deemed to be better off bereft of decorations. The white walls looked exactly the same as always, the same vaguely comforting classical music playing, with not even a paper pumpkin or cheery skeleton to break up the monotony.

On second thought, Laurie said to herself, perhaps that was a good thing, the sameness. It meant Michael was still here.

Despite what had transpired two months before, neither Laurie nor Dr. Beckett had relaxed as Halloween drew near. Security was tightened, a careful watch was kept on him during his sessions with the doctor and Laurie's visits (bumped up to weekly after the incident, though the children still only came on a biweekly basis). She had made a call before coming, after dropping off the twins at school, just to make sure he was still there.

Only one call. It was… normal.

The first few times, it had been back in the same tiny room as Laurie's first visits, with guards in the room and restraints on Michael (reinforced, though Laurie thought that if her brother could rip a door open, he could probably free himself if he wanted to). But those had gradually been taken off again, and a limited amount of freedom given. She had heard that they were using what little funding they had to improve the structure of the doors as well, not to mention boosting security to prevent outside intruders from getting in. She wondered what measures were being taken today, the ninth anniversary of his escape.

But when she came in, she saw few differences from her last couple of visits. One guard remained in the room; she could see two cameras in the corner of the room. But little seemed to have changed.

Well, no – the two things that had changed the most were sitting next to each other at the table.

Laurie settled down, watching Michael's reactions, his movements. No children today – it was not even the normal day for visits. She had had to make a special arrangement, with the help of Dr. Beckett, to get permission to come for this specific date. Both of them had thought it imperative that she be there, acting as both reward and incentive. Laurie had had to take a day off work. At least the administration was more accepting this time; she had already done it last year, so it was not unexpected, even if now she had completely different reasons for doing it. Jamie and John were at school, wearing costumes for the first time in their lives, and Laurie had felt a strange mix of nostalgia and worry as she watched her twins, both dressed as clowns, tromp off to class with the rest of their classmates.

They were going to go trick-or-treating tonight. She had feared they too might share in her nightmares after the intrusion in the sanitarium - all the blood, the bodies, the terror, could not have been healthy - but they had recovered well enough, other than being a bit jumpy for a few days. The resilience, or innocence, of youth, she supposed. Or perhaps ignorance - they still had no idea just what exactly their uncle had done to land him in a mental institution, though judging by the twins' conversations, they seemed to think it was stealing. But the rest of the town knew, and Laurie was not ready for anybody to know that they were visiting the infamous Michael Myers. It would surely come out - at some point, Jamie or John would probably draw some picture entitled "My Family", and have a teacher start nosing about "that man in the mask". Then the news would spread.

But until then, she would let her twins have their fun, and Laurie would stay at home. Let them go with Rachel. She wasn't ready to go out yet, but she would no longer deprive her twins. And it was better that Haddonfield not see her anytime Halloween night. Better, for now, that she stay at home and keep an eye on the news, just in case.

She shook her head, pulling herself back into the present, back to the sanitarium.

Michael was wearing a mask, an orange and black, pumpkin-like thing somewhat reminiscent of the image on Dr. Loomis's second book. She sat down, dropping her pile of paperwork onto the table with a small sigh. While she pulled out a pencil and organized herself, she saw Michael reach for the mask and tug it off, some of his hair getting tangled in the string.

That was another thing that was different, taking off the mask. He did not always do it – more often than not, he kept it on – but sometimes, perhaps if he was feeling in a good mood, he would not wear it. He had not ever come in wearing no mask at all, but Dr. Beckett still thought it indicated some kind of progress. He had also wondered if he would let _Laurie_ take off the mask, but despite the doctor's hints towards the matter, she had not tried to repeat that one experience. Perhaps he would let her, perhaps not – she was not sure herself – but she had no current inclination to try. What her brother did now, infrequent as it was, was enough.

Michael dropped the mask near her paper. Laurie waited, pencil poised.

After a second's pause – like he had been watching her – he lifted his right hand placed it on the table as well, palm open – a light, casual movement, something that was by now almost habitual.

Laurie put down her pencil and reached her left hand across, tucking it in his. She felt a squeeze.

"Happy Halloween, Michael."

**FIN**


End file.
